


Achievable perfection

by epithalamium



Series: When the sky is blue [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Extramarital Affairs, Happy Ending, I'm Sorry, Immortality, M!Dimileth, M/M, MDimileth is the Endgame Ship, Male My Unit | Byleth, Marriage of Convenience, Minor Byleth Eisner/Manuela Casagranda, Minor Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Annette Fantine Dominic, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, They Die in Some Routes, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 73,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23699029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epithalamium/pseuds/epithalamium
Summary: In another history, he'd been likened to Pan the undesiring strategist by a student. Standing beside the new king of a united Fòdlan, a descendant of Loog himself, Byleth thought of Ferdinand and how close he'd been to predicting the future.Dimileth across timelines and different routes.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Series: When the sky is blue [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005819
Comments: 60
Kudos: 152





	1. White Clouds: Necessity

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be mostly canon compliant, barring a few scenes you can't see as m!Byleth (like the Goddess tower scene). Which means no S support with Dimitri. 
> 
> But why does the story have to end when the game says so? 
> 
> tl;dr: Dimileth is the end game, I promise.

i. Blue Lions, Great Tree Moon

Byleth's second day at Garreg Mach found him summoned once more to the audience chamber to meet the Archbishop. She was accompanied by the two professors Byleth had met the day before, and they generously offered him the first pick of the houses in Officers Academy.

He had given the matter some thought, weighing the information he'd gleaned about the students and the calculating desire in the house leaders' eyes. From Jeralt's cues, Byleth reckoned he needed to avoid entanglements, make sure he'd be able to leave the monastery without anyone raising a fuss or getting in his way. If he took all that in consideration, the Blue Lion house was a logical choice. 

'And why is that?' said Sothis. Byleth was slowly getting used to her voice, but remembering he was never alone with his thoughts was a different matter. In his mind, he could hear her scoff, 'Stop being such a scaredy cat. Why the Blue Lions?'

'The students seem to be an independent lot and eager to learn,' said Byleth. He didn't need to speak aloud; his conversation with Sothis happened somewhere other than the physical and he had enough of a reputation as a strange man. 'They'll be fine without me.' 

'And the calculating desire in Prince Dimitri's eyes?' Sothis laughed, her tone dripping with lasciviousness. 

'He's too proper to do anything about it,' said Byleth. 

'But the others aren't?'

Byleth sighed. 'He's not my type.' 

Her laughter rose to a cackle; Sothis had the voice of a young girl but spoke like a crone. Byleth found it quite charming. 'Poor Prince Dimitri!' 

'I'm sure he can have whoever he wants.' 

'Not you, apparently.' 

'And that's my loss.' Byleth nodded at Professor Manuela--he hadn't been paying attention to what she was saying, but she was less likely to ask him about blood and hair samples and he thought it was a safe enough reaction. 'Thank you,' he said aloud. 

'Have you made your decision then?' the Archbishop said. 

'The Blue Lion house,' said Byleth. He thought of other histories where he chose different, the other Byleths who might or might not regret their decision. 

Times were changing, but he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing or not. 

*

ii. Black Eagles, Great Tree Moon 

Byleth followed Jeralt outside the inn, tilting his head at the trio of youngsters standing just outside the door. Two young men and a lady; they wore a uniform Byleth was unfamiliar with, but he took note of the thick cloth and the fine embroidery. Rich folk, probably nobles. 

'Please, sir, we require your assistance.' The tallest boy was speaking to Jeralt and if Byleth had any doubts about their status, the blond kid's accent put them to rest. He spoke clearly, even though he and his companions were gasping for breath from physical exertion--presumably from running to the inn--and his syllables were clear and polite. One would think they were merely taking a stroll and stopping for a chat. 

He was certainly the quintessential noble. Byleth tried not to roll his eyes; he had a hard time with those kinds of people, the ones who wore etiquette like an armour and expected the less fortunate to be as virtuous as they were. 

'Bandits?' said Jeralt, with a heavy sigh. 'We can't have them wreaking havoc in the village. Come on.' 

The last was addressed to Byleth and the noble trio turned to look at him, the lady narrowing her eyes. Perhaps because he had so few of his own, Byleth paid a lot of attention to other people's emotions and in the lady's frown he saw her annoyance. She didn't like how she'd been unaware of his presence until Jeralt called out to him--interesting. 

'We'd be happy to help,' she said, turning back to Jeralt. 'We are at fault, after all.' 

'There's no need for children like you to--' Jeralt caught himself. 'You're from that school, huh? Well, I don't think it would hurt.' He met Byleth's eye and raised his eyebrows, _Look out for these kids, will you?_

Byleth nodded, giving the three a once over. The lady was carrying an axe, an intimidating weapon that perhaps set to balance her small stature. She laughed at the suggestion of being green--Byleth couldn't say how true that was. Jeralt had said the last big battle in Fòdlan had been three centuries ago; there'd been relative peace between the countries since, where would a noble like her find the need to step into the battlefield? 

The Western rebellion, perhaps. But surely she was too young to have served then. 

The boy with dark hair made a quip about poison as he ran a finger across the fletching of his arrows. Byleth assumed he wasn't from Faerghus; the Kingdom lords would formally announce duels in the morning so they could do penance in the afternoon. This archer's cunning approach in battle wasn't the Faerghus style, but he would certainly flourish in Adrestia or the Alliance territories. 

'We are grateful for your help.' The blond boy looked at Byleth before bowing to Jeralt: his good manners meant he was sensitive to the chain of command and knew how to act accordingly. His grip on his lance was firm but not tense. Maybe he wasn't as bad as Byleth first thought. 'Let's go.' 

The boy's voice carried across the clearing--enemies lurking in the bushes would be able to pinpoint their location, but the boy seemed to be aware of this. 

There's the Kingdom lord. Byleth sighed; the battle hadn't even begun and he felt tired already. 

*

'What was that?' Jeralt's voice trailed off, as if he'd become unsure of his question in the middle of asking it. 

Byleth was spared having to reply as a large man with a carefully trimmed beard stomped to where they stood. 

'Fear not, the Knights of Seiros are here to help,' said the man, gesturing at his men to follow. His voice was louder than the blond boy's. 'Captain? Is that you?' 

'Well, fuck,' said Jeralt. 'Why did it have to be you?' 

Byleth raised his eyebrows: _do you know this man?_

Jeralt gave him a shrug before turning back to the knight. The man introduced himself as Alois and said he’d been Jeralt’s squire when Jeralt was still captain of the Knights of Seiros. Byleth hadn't known Jeralt had been connected to the Church, much less as a captain of the famed Knighthood. 

'I can't imagine how that came to be,' said the lady, when Byleth admitted ignorance about Jeralt's past. He appreciated how she refrained from asking questions when she clearly wanted to fish for more information. 

'You were brilliant in the battlefield,' the blond boy cut in. 'As expected of his son, I suppose.' 

Had he been the type to show emotion on his face, Byleth's eyes would have widened at this change in the blond boy's attitude. Left among his peers, he had dropped the polite speech and spoke with the clipped accent of common folk--Byleth wondered if it was a show put on for his sake, but the boy did seem more relaxed this way. 

'The Empire could use more people like you,' said the lady. 'To tell you the truth, I'm no mere noble, but the heir to throne--' 

'Hang on, Edelgard,' said the blond boy. 'Let me finish _my_ proposition first. Watching you in battle made me realise I still have much to learn. Will you return to the Kingdom with me?' 

Byleth turned to the boy with dark hair, who shrugged and gave a sympathetic laugh. 'If it helps, I was planning on getting to know you better before asking for favours.'

'Hm,' said Sothis. 'Lineage and loyalty mean a lot to these nobles, but they seem to be so impressed they're willing to let you have your pick.' 

Byleth wished he was marching to the next assignment with his father instead of having to deal with a group of nobles that looked at him like he was the last remaining sweet bun on a platter, but the life of a mercenary was a fickle one. 

'Well?' said Edelgard. 'Where does your loyalty lie?' 

The villagers had given Jeralt a generous bonus for a job well done; Byleth reckoned he owed fealty to Remire until they reached their next destination. 'The Empire.'

She looked pleased, hiding a smile behind her hand. 'That's surprising. Adrestia is but a shadow of its past glory, but I suppose it does have a rich heritage.' 

'Apologies for interrupting, but we must head out soon.' Jeralt’s former squire, Alois, gave the three nobles a perfunctory bow before gesturing at the group of knights gathered next to the Remire watchtower. 'We want to get back to the monastery before the sun sets.' 

Byleth watched the three hurry to join the Knights of Seiros and wished, for a brief moment, his father had not answered their plea for help. 

He heard Sothis's unimpressed huff of breath. 'You'll need to get used to dealing with the nobility if you want to get anywhere in life.' 

Byleth shook his head. He didn't want to get anywhere in life; he simply wanted to do his job and be left alone. 

'Go on then, before they leave you behind,' said Sothis. 'Honestly, you can't let your father do everything for you. Perhaps you'd do well to study in that Academy they keep talking about.' 

*

iii. Golden Deer, Great Tree Moon

Byleth left Claude and Hilda still chatting about the upcoming mock battle. Claude had made joking allusions to schemes that would ensure a win, but both of them seemed confident in Byleth's ability to lead them to victory. That was flattering, but Byleth was used to looking out only for himself in the battlefield. Commanding Jeralt's handpicked mercenaries was a far cry from being in charge of students with varying levels of experience. 

He needed to come up with a plan of attack, if nothing quite as complicated as Claude's underhanded manoeuvres. So headed for the training grounds where he could think while practising his form. A number of students greeted him as he passed and Sothis insisted he talk to some of them. Byleth didn't mind; he was in no hurry and he needed to get to know the students better to gauge their skills in battle. 

'I look forward to seeing you fight once more in the mock battle,' said Dimitri. The formal tone was back, slow and carefully articulated syllables that flirted with the concept of a drawl. He'd put it back on when he found out Byleth had been appointed as a professor, which was a shame because Byleth liked the prince better when he dropped the airs and etiquette. 'This would be quite a challenge.' 

'You don't have to be so polite,' said Byleth. 

The chagrin in Dimitri's face was almost worthy of the theater. 'Do I sound too stiff?' he said. Dedue, who was standing next to him, stifled what might have been a laugh. 'Well. I'll be talking like this, then, if you don't mind.' 

'You could smile every now and then,' said Sothis. 

'What for?' 

'What for!' Her voice rose, as if she couldn't believe someone would ask such a stupid question. 'You want to forge bonds with people, do you not? Why, this boy would become the king of Faerghus soon. You'd do well to make a friend of him.' 

'That's the business of the nobility,' said Byleth, thinking of how wary Jeralt had been of the archbishop. Jeralt was good at forming bonds with people; he wasn't polite, but he was approachable and people seemed drawn to him. Seeing the look of resignation in his father's face--and perhaps a trace of fear, although Byleth couldn't be sure--while talking to Lady Rhea didn't make Byleth want to stay in Garreg Mach and make friends. 

Sothis sighed. 'Maybe so, but it wouldn't hurt for you to be nice. Outside the battlefield, survival relies on decorum and alliances. Your house leader knows as much.' 

'Don't treat me like a kid.' 

'Oh I'm sorry.' Sothis laughed. 'How could I forget? You're all of three minutes older than these brats. Practically an old man, in fact!' 

'Professor?' 

Byleth realised he'd been glaring at Dimitri for the better part of a minute as Sothis lectured him about things he already knew. To his credit, Dimitri didn't seem so much bothered as confused, leaning forward slightly to meet Byleth's eyes. Beside him, Dedue moved to place a hand on his sword--a gentle man, but he was serious about protecting his prince. Byleth reckoned he could take both of them down, but he didn't need Sothis to tell him that was a bad idea. 

Instead he gave Dimitri a smile. 'Sorry, got lost in my thoughts there.'

The Crown Prince of Faerghus hadn't been intimidated by all the glaring, but the smile made him step back, his face turning red. 'Not at all.' 

'Oho,' said Sothis. 'Very interesting.' 

Byleth tried not to roll his eyes. 'I'll be seeing you two, then.' 

He'd survived enough battles to know when someone was observing him from far away. Byleth headed for the training grounds, painfully aware of Dimitri's regard even if he wasn't looking at Byleth at all. 

*

iv. Blue Lions, Great Tree Moon

The entrance hall was all but deserted, the students hurrying to dine after the morning's hard work, and Byleth wondered if he should wait until the rush was over before heading for the dining hall himself. 

'Professor!' Dimitri ran towards Byleth, the rest of the Blue Lions in tow. 'I've been looking for you.'

The kid was no Sylvain with his silver tongue, but he wasn't bad. The personal 'I' was a good touch, even if it was obvious the rest of his house had been searching with him, as is the way he acted as if Byleth was the only person there. 

'Is that all it takes for you to fall into his arms?' said Sothis. ‘Remember what Seteth said about improper conduct?' 

‘I said he’s not bad, not that the flirting’s working,’ said Byleth.

'Well,’ Sothis dropped the teasing tone, ‘from my own experience, the nobility is not above throwing their affection around. You might as well enjoy this young man while he’s here.’ 

'Did you need me?' said Byleth, to Dimitri. He felt like cutting his own throat open as soon as he'd said the words; Sothis's cackle rising so he almost failed to hear Dimitri tell him about celebrating their victory.

‘I’m invited?’ said Byleth. 

‘Of course, it was thanks to your leadership that we won, after all,’ said Sylvain. 

‘Indeed! I’m so glad you decided to teach our class, professor,’ said Annette. ‘But all that excitement has made me work up quite an appetite.’

The rest of the class marched to the dining hall, voices loud as they argued about the mock battle results and the cook's excellent peach sorbet. Byleth followed at a reasonable distance; he didn't want them to think they had to be on best behaviour because their professor was with them. 

'You don't look very happy about our win, professor,' said Dimitri. 'At least, I don't think so.' 

Byleth looked at Dimitri and considered what to say. 'Is that so?' 

'That is,' said Dimitri, rubbing the back of his neck. 'I'm sorry, that was rude. I know it must be hard getting thrust suddenly into a teaching position like this; so if there's anything you need, all you have to do is ask.' 

'Oh he really wants you in his bed, does he not?' 

'He's trying to be nice, Sothis. Not everything has to be about seduction.' 

Sothis huffed and pouted and Byleth knew he'd have to apologise and grovel later, but that could wait. 

'Thank you,' he said. 

Dimitri smiled. 'Joy is quite fleeting, especially since we'd be here only for a short while. I want to share that joy with you, professor.' 

'I see what you mean about the flirting,' said Sothis, rousing from her petulant silence. She sounded almost impressed. 

Byleth worried at his chapped lips and said nothing. Students entering the Officers Academy had already received initial training on their respective fields and a year was deemed sufficient for polishing existing skills and giving students first-hand experience of battles in controlled situations. This meant the time Dimitri and his classmates would spend in Garreg Mach was as short as he said, but there was something in Dimitri's eyes that made Byleth wonder if that was really what Dimitri was referring to. 

He didn't know Dimitri well enough to ask, so he didn't, but he made a mental note to keep a close eye on the prince in the future. 

*


	2. White Clouds: Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and his class on their first kills. :>

i. Blue Lions, Harpstring Moon

The first person Byleth killed was a thief, a boy close to his age who'd thrown in his lot with a group of bandits that terrorised travellers passing through Magdred Way. The boy had gotten lucky; he'd managed to sneak up on Marcus and his mount, dagger cutting through flesh and tendon, Violeta crying out in pain as she fell and crushing Marcus's leg under her weight. The boy had managed to avoid getting trampled and, from the top of their employers' wagon, Byleth watched him move closer to Jeralt. 

Keeping an eye on the merchants' goods was Byleth's job, and he wasn't supposed to leave his post except for the direst of circumstances, so he threw his own dagger instead. He didn't have to hit his target; he only needed to alert Jeralt to the boy's presence by making some noise, but Byleth had seen the panic in Marcus's face as he'd tried to pull himself to safety, the bandits giving him no time to comfort or mourn his dying horse as they ran him through with a lance. Byleth gritted his teeth and hoped his aim would strike true. 

His dagger pierced the boy's left eye, the angle not quite clean enough that the blade hit more bone than eye, and the boy fell down with a grunt. Jeralt gave his prone form a quick glance before nodding at Byleth.

The downward pull to Jeralt's mouth made Byleth think his father looked sad. 

Once they'd rounded up the bandits and counted their losses, Jeralt called Byleth down from the wagon and held out his dagger, still stained with the boy's blood. 

'Open your mouth,' said Jeralt. 

'Seiros,' said Berenice, making a face. 'Do you have to, Jeralt?' 

'You need to understand what this means,' said Jeralt, addressing Byleth but also answering Berenice's question. 'Taking a person's life. You bear the burden of their future, what they could have been, and the sorrows of their loved ones. Killing should never become easy.'

'You think they care about that?' Berenice's voice was sharp, but the way she crossed her arms looked almost like she was embracing herself. 

'Most people do,' said Jeralt. 'We don't forsake our humanity even in the desperation of poverty.' 

'Fuck them.' Berenice snorted. 'What good are pretty words and your little rituals when my brother lies dead under a pile of rocks?' 

'They serve as reminders, of course,' said Jeralt. He sighed when Berenice threw up her hands and stomped away from the clearing, but he didn't follow her as he normally would. Instead he turned to Byleth again. 'Now, Byleth.' 

Eyeing the dripping dagger in his father's hand, Byleth opened his mouth. He didn't want to, but this was obviously important to Jeralt. 

'Getting caught up in the waves of chaos and anger is easy enough,' said Jeralt, his voice low. 'But afterwards there is only this. Remember that, boy.' 

And he pressed the tip of Byleth's dagger against his tongue, blood half-dry and cold on the blade. The sharp metallic taste of it filled Byleth's mouth, a cloying scent of rot that lingered in the back of his throat, and the bits of matter that were stuck on the metal and felt soft against Byleth's tongue. 

He gagged and would have pulled away if not for an iron will of effort to stay still and wait for Jeralt to finish. 

Jeralt didn’t move until Byleth was almost crying, unable to breathe or swallow his own spit without the smell and taste of blood overpowering his senses, and then nodded. 'Good work.' 

He handed Byleth a flask in exchange for the dagger, laughing as Byleth choked, coughed, and spat the brandy out. 'Easy there, boy.' 

'Some people deserve to be killed,' said Byleth, head already swimming from the alcohol. 

'In time,' said Jeralt, 'someone will think the same of you. That's a decision you have to make.' 

Byleth didn't understand back then, but he nodded and took another sip of the brandy, letting the burning liquid wash off the lingering coppery taste from his mouth. 

*

'That could have been me,' said Ashe, looking at the bandit he had felled with an arrow to the neck. 'If I hadn't made the first move--' 

Byleth stepped forward, wondering if there were words that would make the situation better--not correct, not in the way Ashe looked for logic in actions and events, but make the burden of someone's interrupted future easier to bear. But Dimitri reached Ashe before Byleth could, placing a hand on Ashe's shoulder and giving him a nod. 

'We're moving forward,' said Dimitri. 'We need you to cover our backs, Ashe.' 

That was gently done. Byleth gave Dimitri a smile when their eyes met, the prince looking puzzled and stumbling over a boulder as they marched on. Dedue caught him before he cracked his head open, and Felix hissed a few pointed reminders about not getting distracted. 

‘It would never do for these brats to die here,’ said Sothis. ‘Look at how green they are! You will, of course, make use of the Divine Pulse as needed.’

Turning back time hadn't been necessary; Kostas and his men were poor bandits who could barely afford regular meals--which was not to say years of training with the best war masters in Fódlan would naturally win over experience and desperation, but that’s where Byleth made up for what his noble students lacked.

‘You don’t look hard pressed for anything to me,’ said Sothis. 

‘I’m good at hiding my emotions.’ 

Sothis laughed and she agreed with Byleth’s decision to let time run its course even after Sylvain got a chunk of his left arm carved off with an axe. Ingrid and Felix all but shouted insults at the poor boy in their worry, while Mercedes assured everyone he was going to be fine. Not a mortal wound, but painful enough. Byleth made a note to have him focus on his study of magic while recovering; he'd need the distraction without over-exerting himself. 

'Professor, the Knights of Seiros sent word,' said Dimitri. 'We'll be returning to the monastery soon.' 

Byleth nodded. 'I need everyone to gather around.' 

Zanado had been a fairly large city. Judging from the ruins--which was all that was left of the buildings that once stood there--it had been a prosperous one. Elegant friezes left on the crumbling walls were still flecked with strange shining paint, the bits of quartz embedded in broken pillars sparkled under the setting sun, and on top of the cold polished stones that paved the streets were the corpses of Kostas and his men. Byleth led the Blue Lions down those streets again, tracing their progress back, and doing what his father had done seven years ago. 

Most of them didn't question the little ritual--in fact, Ashe looked almost relieved as Byleth pressed the tip of his arrowhead against his tongue, his throat working as he tried not to throw up. 

'Are you serious?' said Sylvain. He was paler than usual and looked to be on the verge of passing out, but he seemed ready to debate the wisdom of tasting a dead person's blood. 

Dimitri made a sound as if to shut Sylvain up, but Byleth cut him off, 'Getting rid of these bandits before they killed more people is logical, isn't it? But they used to be alive--no matter who they were and what their deeds. Feeling guilt is understandable.' 

'And do we need to drink the blood from a corpse to deal with that guilt?' said Felix. 

'No,' said Byleth. 'But it's as good a starting point as any. What does it mean to kill for justice?' 

'Did you do this?' said Felix. 'After your first kill?'

'Yes.' 

Felix shrugged. 'Then fine.' He turned to Sylvain. 'Getting through this will earn you a sip from the professor's flask, which you've been eyeing like you're parched.'

Sylvain laughed. 'I'm injured! I think I'm allowed to look longingly at whatever will dull the pain.' 

'Mercie has patched you up as best as she could,' said Annette. 'You're not really in that much pain, are you?' 

'Don't betray me like this, Annette.' 

Felix went first, his eyes narrowing at the taste, but he said nothing and Byleth pretended not to notice how his shoulders had tensed at the sight of Byleth's bloody dagger. For his part, Sylvain voiced a token complaint and made a production of opening his mouth, but he didn't pull away. He remained silent for the rest of their walk back to the bridge of Zanado, his eyes downcast.

'Professor--' said Dimitri, as they approached the corpses that lay on the bridge. Those bandits had been the first to fall and, worried for the students' safety on their first real mission, Byleth had taken care of most of them. 

'The Knights of Seiros are nearby,' said Byleth. 'We'll need their help getting Sylvain back to the monastery.' 

'I'll see if we can arrange for a wagon,' said Ingrid. Ashe volunteered to accompany her, and the rest of the class followed at a slower pace, with Felix and Dedue supporting Sylvain. 

Byleth hung back; he was sure Kostas and his men had all been taken care of, but he wasn't going to take chances and kept on the alert. He noticed Dimitri had fallen back as well, slowing his pace until they were walking side by side. 

'Those men on the bridge,' said Dimitri, like he was commenting on the weather. 'The ones I killed--'

'Weren't your first,' said Byleth. He looked up to see Dimitri frown and went on, 'Obviously I'd seen you kill when we first met, but that wasn't your first either, was it?' 

Dimitri was silent for so long Byleth assumed he wasn't going to answer and pulled out the flask from his bag to hand to the prince. 'Everyone's already had a go.'

'Is it wise to let people our age drink alcohol?' Dimitri took the flask anyway, making no move to twist the cap open. 

'But it's fine to send you out to kill people?' 

'Fair enough.' Dimitri laughed, quick and sharp, and Byleth realised he'd never heard Dimitri laugh before. 'How old were you?' 

'Thirteen,' said Byleth. 

'I was fourteen.' Dimitri looked at the flask again. 

'If you don't want a drink, give it here,' said Byleth. ' _I_ could use some brandy right now.' 

‘You really are Captain Jeralt’s son.’ Dimitri hesitated, then opened the flask and took a sip. He made a face. 'It's sweeter than I expected.' 

'I like sweets,' said Byleth. He preferred spicy things, but in truth there wasn't a type of food he didn't like. He held out a hand to get his flask back. Dimitri ignored him, throwing his head back, his Adam's apple moving as he took another swig of brandy. 'Don't finish it all.' 

'They might have been thieves,' said Dimitri, his voice low enough Byleth could pretend not to hear what he'd said, 'but it never gets easy.' 

'You usually have something to say,' said Byleth. 

Sothis gave the impression of shrugging even though Byleth couldn't see her. 'The words he needs to hear are not mine to give.'

But as with Ashe earlier, Byleth had no idea what those words were. Jeralt usually took care of that; he wasn't an affectionate man--in fact, he was gruff and tactless--but he was also sincere and people found that comforting. In contrast, Byleth had silence and a face that earned him his Ashen Demon nickname. 

Dimitri's fingers brushed against Byleth's when he returned the flask, the contact only half by accident, and Byleth allowed it. Neither of them said anything, but in the silence, Byleth felt the echo of companionship. 

*

ii. Golden Deer, Garland Moon

Byleth found Ashe in the cathedral, sitting on one of the pews in the back and staring at a pillar like the solution to his problems had been carved on the stone. 

'Ashe.' Byleth placed a hand on Ashe's shoulder, ready to pull away in case Ashe needed privacy. 'Are you all right?' 

'Professor, what's going to happen to Lord Lonato?' Ashe was a soft-spoken kid and his voice remained calm even if Byleth had to lean down to hear him. 'I heard,' he took a deep breath, 'the Knights of Seiros are already headed for Gaspard.' 

Byleth sat next to Ashe. 'I was wondering if you could help the Golden Deer out for this month's mission.' 

Ashe frowned and, when he realised what Byleth was asking of him, nodded. 'Of course.' 

His mouth was pressed into a thin line and his pale eyes held a madness Byleth had seen before in desperate people, the ones who were a breath away from despair. 

'I've already made arrangements with Professor Hanneman,' said Byleth. 'I'll speak with you when we're about to head out.' 

*

'You're going to Gaspard with the Golden Deer, aren't you?' 

Byleth followed Dimitri to the quiet corner of the knight's hall--Hanneman's corner, some of the knights called it, on account of the books crammed in the shelves that lined the walls. Very few of the knights ever ventured there, preferring to stay near the fireplace where there were benches and sometimes beer. 

'I'm sorry,' said Dimitri. 'I should have--' he shook his head. 'The Kingdom has not been the most stable the last five years.' 

'That's not your fault.' Byleth wondered what people expected from the prince. Dimitri was probably not a bad choice as the ruler of Faerghus, but he was also seventeen years old. 

Not that succession at such a young age was unusual, and some of the students in the Officers Academy had also taken on adult responsibilities. Byleth himself was much younger when Jeralt allowed him to join their group of mercenaries officially. But that seemed less daunting than having to take charge of a whole Kingdom with unstable political standing. Byleth was sure Claude and Edelgard felt the same pressure, even if the Leicester Alliance and Adrestia did a better job hiding their cracks of dissent from the public. 

His feelings for the nobility hadn't changed much. Byleth was a commoner and a mercenary to boot; he'd seen enough of nobles to trust them only as far as he could spit. But seeing how hard the noble students from the Officers Academy worked in order to protect something--peace between borders, the livelihood in their holdings, or their own families--made Byleth more amenable to the possibility of sympathy. 

'In some ways, there's not a lot of difference between the nobility and common folk,' said Byleth. 

'Do you think so?' said Dimitri, smiling. 

He always took Byleth's _non sequiturs_ at face value, which Byleth found charming. Most people ignored him in order to steer the conversation to where they wanted it to be, but Dimitri engaged as if he was truly interested in whatever random fact Byleth wanted to share. 

'We all have our share of responsibilities,' said Byleth, letting the conversation flow back to where Dimitri had been taking it. 

'Yet the more power one has, the more careful one should be, don't you think?' Dimitri was looking at the top shelf of a bookcase, his voice low. 

Byleth didn't think he was in a position to criticise a lord from Faerghus, so he shrugged and said, 'The Knights know enough to minimise the damage to Gaspard and the villagers as much as possible.'

Dimitri nodded. 'I have a favour to ask of you, professor.' 

'As long as it's not about money.' 

The prince smiled again and was nice enough not to remind Byleth he was worth more than what Byleth would earn in several lifetimes. 'Ashe is the adopted son of Lord Lonato, and he's worried.' Dimitri let his voice trail off. 

Lonato was probably going to be killed in battle; the official directive was the Church wanted him alive for trial, but Byleth knew no one would bat an eye if the Knights took care of him in Gaspard. From the looks of him and the favour he was about to ask, Dimitri knew this as well. 

'He understands what I'll be expecting of him?' said Byleth. 

Dimitri seemed relieved he didn't actually have to say what he wanted Byleth to do. 'He's a hard-working boy,' he said instead. 'He understands his duty.' 

'Very well,' said Byleth. 'I'll mention it to Professor Hanneman.' 

'Thank you.' Dimitri bowed. 'If there's a way I could repay you--'

'I'm hungry,' said Byleth. For the most part he didn't mind people owing him favours; in his line of work those connections were unavoidable and worth cultivating. But this was different, the favour asked for someone else and a thankless task that waited at the end of it for poor Ashe Duran. Byleth didn't think Dimitri needed to feel himself beholden for something like that. 

'You're soft on him,' said Sothis. 

'I'd do the same for anyone, under the same circumstances.' For the sake of fairness, Byleth added, 'But he was the one who asked.' 

She didn't answer, but he could feel her knowing smile. He let her think what she wanted. 

'There's a place in town we could go to for,' Dimitri stopped, realising the hour for lunch had gone and passed ages ago and the sun had nearly set, 'dinner.' 

His tone made it sound like a question. Byleth nodded, all businesslike to make things easier for the prince. 'Sounds good to me.' 

*

iii. Blue Lions, Garland Moon

The cursed fog made things more complicated than they already were. Byleth tried not to think about his students falling where he couldn't see them, bleeding to death in some ditch before anyone knew to help. 

'You and the little ones are better than that,' said Sothis. 'And don't forget you can command the Divine Pulse.' 

He nodded, mouth thinning into a grim line as a hidden archer grazed Dedue's arm with their arrow. 'Stay close to those who bear torches,' he said. 'Did you catch that, Ashe?' 

'That birch to the west,' said Ashe, softly. He was deadly quiet when he needed to be, a good quality in an archer. Compared to his peers in the Academy, Ashe wasn't the strongest or most skilled, but he was sharp and reliable and made for a good scout. Had he not been connected to the lord of Gaspard, Byleth would have asked him if he wanted to join Jeralt's group. 

Byleth signalled for Caspar to go ahead of Ashe--Caspar was the complete opposite and was known for his shouting in the battlefield, but he could handle holding the enemy off before Ashe took care of them from a better vantage point. 

'Steady now,' Catherine called out from where she and her troops flanked the Blue Lions to the left. Even through the thick fog, Byleth could see her sword--Dimitri had called it Thunderbrand--glowing like a strangely shaped lamp. 'The welcoming party's here to greet us.' 

A battalion of Gaspard militia had marched ahead, men with little to no martial training hoping to stop the Knights of Seiros from advancing. Dedue moved forward so he was standing between the enemies and Dimitri; the prince could probably cut them all down by himself, but the rebels had fervent belief in their cause and it would only take luck to land him a mortal blow. Byleth stood next to Dedue and gave him a nod. 

Byleth had grown up knowing nothing about the Church of Seiros and he hadn't taken to the habit of invoking her blessings upon other people, so he gave his students what words he could offer, 'Good luck.'

*

'I don't understand why Lord Lonato would do this,' Ashe said, as they marched to Gaspard. 

'You should understand his motives more than anyone else, shouldn't you?' said Catherine. She was blunt and almost as tactless as Jeralt; Byleth wondered if she'd ever been on a mission with his father and if they'd gotten along. 

'He never told me anything.' Ashe looked at his feet. 'Not about this.'

'He wouldn't have wanted you to get involved in his vendetta,' said Dimitri. 

Because of his former job, Byleth had a working familiarity with the businesses of Fòdlan nobility, but his lack of knowledge about the Church of Seiros meant his understanding was incomplete. 'Vendetta?' 

'How much do you know about the tragedy of Duscur?' said Catherine. 

'I've heard of it,' said Byleth, looking sideways at Dimitri. 

'It was regicide,' said Catherine, her voice flat. Next to her, Ashe bowed his head and Byleth almost didn't see him flinch. 'Some of the Kingdom nobles were suspected of conspiring with the dissenters, and Lonato's son Cristophe was one of them.' 

'Why was the king targeted?' Byleth realised his mistake when he saw Dimitri close his eyes and turn away. Whatever kind of king Lambert had been, he still had a son who'd been left to mourn his death. 

'Reforms some of the noble families didn't agree with,' said Catherine, after a moment of silence Dimitri obviously had no intention of breaking. 

'Then how is the Church of Seiros involved in this?' Everything Byleth had heard so far had to do with the politics of Faerghus, and no matter the Kingdom's very close ties to the Church, he couldn't see how any of this was their business. 

'The Kingdom fell to chaos after the king's assassination. His heir has yet to reach his majority--' everyone tried not to look at Dimitri. 'And well, you know how people feel about the regent.' 

Rufus was the late king's older brother but, as he didn't bear the crest of Blaiddyd, the ascendancy had skipped him entirely and they gave him the duchy of Itha instead. No one could be sure how Rufus felt about that--as a Grand Duke he had never expressed any desire to inherit the throne, but he also maintained something of a libertine reputation, which was as close as he could get to giving the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus the middle finger. Byleth assumed many of the Kingdom lords had opposed his regency, despite them having few choices to begin with. Most of them liked to pretend Rufus didn't exist, even now. 

'We had to move fast,' Catherine went on, 'in order to re-establish some semblance of order.' 

Two more deaths would have ended the House of Blaiddyd entirely: the Church had stepped in to protect Prince Dimitri. Byleth nodded. 'And Lonato's son was one of the dissenters?' 

Ashe made a sound, but said nothing. He was outranked by everyone in their little gathering and he wasn't stupid enough to pick a fight with a Knight of Seiros. 

'Cristophe,' said Catherine, as if chewing on the name. 'He had ideas about justice and looking out for the people of Gaspard. Got caught up in something bigger than him.' 

'And this is why Lord Lonato hates the Church,' said Byleth. He almost wished he hadn't asked, not when the conversation made two of his students look like he'd made them wake up at the crack of dawn for choir practise in the cathedral. 

'It's time you stopped thinking like a hired knife,' said Sothis. 

'What do you mean?'

'Even your father asked questions before taking on a job.' Sothis had helped Byleth find his bearings during his first few months as a professor; she had a knack for imparting knowledge in a way that made it stick, and all he had to do was follow her lead. He preferred when she explained things instead of scolding and she must have caught on, keeping the impatience from her voice when she could and insults at a minimum. 'You're not a thoughtless weapon. The consequences of your actions become greater with the company you keep.' 

Byleth sighed. 'I should have talked to Catherine privately, before we headed out.'

'You're not wrong.' He felt the echo of her phantom hand patting his head. 'And that's a lesson you learned. But perhaps your students needed to hear this conversation as well.' 

Byleth couldn't see why Ashe and Dimitri would need to listen to things they already knew; their professor picking at the scabs of badly healed wounds, an almost-stranger who couldn't even give them words of comfort. He didn't argue with Sothis, and the awkward silence that followed was only broken when a knight arrived to inform them of the Gaspard militia's approach.

'Let's go,' said Catherine, holding Thunderbrand up like a torch. 

*

Byleth supported Ashe's head as he threw up behind a clump of gorse. Not far from where they stood, Byleth could hear Caspar's voice; loud and showering Catherine with praise. Caspar had Jeralt's easy way with people and he'd managed to draw Catherine and her troops into a lively conversation that drowned out the sound of Ashe's dry heaving. 

'You didn't have to,' said Byleth, softly. 

'What else could I have done?' said Ashe, wiping his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. 'Those people--they'd treated me with nothing but kindness even when I was still a child. And I killed them.' His voice broke. 'I killed them all.' 

'We don't know what they would have done had we not stopped them,' said Dimitri. 'The rest of the village needs protection, Ashe.' 

'I'm sorry for bothering you,' said Ashe. His eyes were dry, but they glittered coldly as he bowed at Byleth and Dimitri. 'I should check on my siblings. If you'll excuse me.'

He stalked off. Byleth didn't want his students wandering around Gaspard by themselves. Tension was high and news travelled fast; the villagers who sympathised with the rebellion might have heard of how Lord Lonato had been killed by his own ward in battle. Byleth caught Caspar's eye, he'd noticed Ashe had walked away and was trying to end his conversation with the knights without sounding rude. That was nice of him; as a nobleman he could have left and everyone else would just nod at the fickleness of nobility.

 _Bring someone else with you_ , Byleth signalled. Caspar nodded. 

'Do we need to treat them like that?' said Dimitri. 

'Like what?' Byleth braced himself. He had an idea where this was going and how the prince was raring to start an argument with no right answer. 

'Like enemies. This was the first time I'd had to,' his throat worked. 'To kill civilians. The people I should have been protecting.' 

'There's no honour in war,' said Byleth. He wondered if maybe he took after Jeralt after all. 'There are worse ways to go than be killed by someone who loves you.' 

'Are you fu--' Dimitri caught himself. Byleth hid a smile; wherever the prince had picked up his common accent, he'd learned some choice curses too. 'Those people weren't soldiers or knights; they were practically lining up to be slaughtered. Did we have to kill them?' 

'Perhaps not,' said Byleth, refusing to give Dimitri an inch even when he was shouting at Byleth's face. 

'I'm sorry,' said Dimitri. 'I shouldn't be taking my anger out on you. It's just that,' he took a deep breath, 'I don't see why we need to jump straight into war when perhaps we could talk. We could have tried to make peace with Lord Lonato. Maybe that's naive of me, but it's what I want to believe in.' 

'Do you think Lonato had the right to ask people to die for him?' 

'Stop baiting the poor boy,' said Sothis. 

'I actually do want to know.' 

'He is their lord,' said Dimitri, looking at his feet. 

'Then you understand.' Byleth stepped forward so Dimitri was looking at him instead of his own sturdy leather boots. 'It's because he asked for too much and dragged innocent people into this damned rebellion that we came here to stop him.'

'Byleth--' said Sothis. 

'And once you're king you'll be asking the same of your liegemen and soldiers,' Byleth went on. 'It doesn't matter whether they do it for money or loyalty or honour: those people would die for you. Did Lonato take advantage of that?'

'If we'd reached out to Lord Lonato in hopes of making an agreement with him, perhaps those men wouldn't have died.' Dimitri was close enough Byleth could feel the warmth of Dimitri's breath against his face. They glared at each other. 'Are you forgetting how it was us that killed them, professor?'

'Pardon for interrupting,' said Catherine. 

Byleth moved away from Dimitri and, after a moment's hesitation, Dimitri did the same so there was a healthy space that could fit a horse between them. Byleth ignored Catherine's raised eyebrows. 

'What is it?' said Dimitri. 

'One of the knights found this in Lord Lonato's person.' Catherine handed Byleth a letter. It had been unsealed, the wax bearing no crest that Byleth could recognise.

He opened the letter, holding it closer to his right so Dimitri could read over his shoulder. 

'A plot for assassination,' said Dimitri. 

'Macuil's balls,' said Byleth, soft and only for Dimitri's ears. He felt more than heard Dimitri's laugh. 'What do you think?'

'I think we need to return to the monastery and inform Lady Rhea as soon as possible,' said Catherine. 'If you two are quite done?'

Because he couldn't resist, Byleth looked at Dimitri. 'Your Highness?'

'Yes, quite,' said Dimitri, who was too polite to roll his eyes. 'Lead on, Catherine.'

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have it like Kostas and his men were everyone's first kill except Dimitri's, right, because he was the only one whose dialogue implied he's killed before. But Felix was with Dimitri during the Western rebellion? 
> 
> The timeline in the wiki says Felix was a squire while Dimitri served as a commander. Idk where that came from, but I'll take it! :'D 
> 
> Thanks for reading and until next time! ♡


	3. White Clouds: Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth ~~learns interesting things about his sexuality~~ and his class go to Remire.

i. Blue Lions, Red Wolf Moon

The Church had received word about a strange disease spreading in Remire. Byleth listened to Professor Manuela discussing the particulars with Shamir and tried not to think of the people he'd shared meals with, the little girl who'd tried to befriend him after he'd fixed her spinning top. She had followed him around the village while telling him fantastical stories about talking wyverns. 

'We just got back from scouting the village,' said Shamir. 'The knights will gladly tell you what you wish to know.' 

'I could come with you.' Professor Manuela gave Byleth a wink. 'We'll take care of this mess, just the two of us.'

'Thank you,' said Byleth. He knew Jeralt was more Manuela's type, but he appreciated the gesture. She had a knack for making people feel important, which probably served her well when she was still with Mittelfrank. 

'You like it when people pay attention to you,' said Sothis. 'No wonder you're so partial to the prince.' 

'I'll pretend I didn't hear that,' said Byleth. 

She laughed, and Byleth tried to get his thoughts in order. He could do nothing against natural diseases--that was the purview of Manuela and her fellow physicians--but magic-induced sickness would have to be cast by a person and Byleth was nothing if not good at taking care of persons. 

'Well then,' said Jeralt. 

Byleth had followed him into the Captain's office, watching as Jeralt stacked what looked to be lists from one pile to another on his desk. Jeralt was very particular about record keeping; back when he was a mercenary, he always carried a scroll and a wax tablet to write down the group's expenses and keep track of their supplies. Maybe he'd picked up the habit the first time he'd been the Captain of the Knights of Seiros. 

'Here's the list of knights who'd accompanied Shamir to Remire.' Jeralt handed Byleth a piece of paper he'd torn from a pad. 'We need to know as much as we can before we head out. Make sure your students--' 

Something felt wrong. A tug at the centre of his balance, and Byleth stumbled forward, reaching for the edge of Jeralt's desk to steady himself. 

'What's that?' Sothis's panicked voice sounded far away, her alarm washing over Byleth as the tug became an insistent _pull_ and he fell to the ground. 

'Byleth.' 

A twist deep in his gut. Byleth wasn't a stranger to pain, having spent almost a decade in the battlefield, but this was personal somehow, something that ran deeper than his flesh and blood. He couldn't hold back a gasp, but then the pain and the darkness were gone and he was looking up at Jeralt's frowning face. 'I felt dizzy.'

'Sure looks like it,' said Jeralt, rubbing at Byleth's forehead. 'Good thing you didn't hit your head on the way down.' 

'Hm.' Byleth sat up, Jeralt supporting more of his weight than they both cared to admit. 

'Get some rest when you can. We have enough time to get ready before heading out for the Empire.' Jeralt shook his head. 'Do you need help getting back?' 

'I don't think so,' said Byleth. 

'I could send for the head of your house,' said Jeralt. He wasn't smiling, but Byleth could hear it in his voice. 'I'm sure he won't mind carrying you to your room.'

'Not you too.' Byleth leaned against Jeralt's desk, hoping his father would be too distracted to notice. He was feeling better, would probably be able to walk back to his room unassisted, but he needed a few minutes to regroup. 

Jeralt laughed. 'No harm in it, is there? He'll grow out of it. Unless you don't want him to?'

'What I want,' said Byleth, heading for the door, 'is a drink.'

'Not tonight, you don't,' said Jeralt. 'Get some rest, you hear me?'

'Yes, father.' Byleth paused outside Jeralt's office long enough to hear his father laugh again and call him a little shit.

*

'Your colour looks off,' said Dimitri. 'Shouldn't you go back to your room and rest?' 

'I can do that when I'm dead,' said Byleth. Dimitri didn't look amused, so he added, 'We need to prepare for when we head out to Remire.'

'The Blue Lions can take care of that.' 

'I'm fine,' said Byleth. 'But I could use some help with--'

'There you are,' Jeralt cut in. Byleth could swear every knight in the hall stopped what they were doing to ogle Jeralt the Blade Breaker, as if he hadn't been working with them as Captain of the Knights for half a year. 'Gather your students; we're going to Remire as soon as you're ready.'

'Did something happen?' 

'Looks like there's been a drastic change in the situation in the village.' Jeralt sighed. Byleth noticed the shadows around his father's eyes, the slight slump to his shoulders, and wondered if perhaps Jeralt needed rest as well. 'The scouts said the villagers have started turning against each other: killing and burning houses and what have you. We need to move out soon.'

'Dimitri?' said Byleth. Something in the way the prince held himself felt off, like how the air felt and tasted different before lightning struck. 

Dimitri looked at Byleth, his pale eyes blank and more than a little mad. If Byleth was walking across a frozen lake and felt the ice give slightly under his feet, he would probably feel the way he did when their eyes met. Then the prince blinked and he was Dimitri again, polite and attentive. 'I'll alert the others. Shall we wait for you in the entrance hall, professor?' 

'Please,' said Byleth. Jeralt and Dimitri have both left the Knights' Hall before he realised the pounding of his heart was caused by fear--the emotion wasn't unfamiliar to him as it had been before he'd gone to the monastery, but not in this context. Not caused by someone he knew, a person he was learning to trust. 

He took a bit longer to notice he was hard. 

Well, thought Byleth. _Fuck_.

*

ii. Blue Lions, Red Wolf Moon

There was a wrongness in Remire, something that hung in the air, as tangible as the blood that stained the ground and the smoke that rose from the burning buildings, but separate from them. Byleth had a hard time looking at the village, a place that had been familiar now transformed into--whatever this was. Sothis remained silent as they looked at Remire from higher ground, but Byleth could feel her recoil against that wrongness as well.

Someone gasped, the sound a soft counterpoint to the screams and cries for help, and Byleth turned around to see Dimitri shaking his head. 

'Are you all right?' 

'It's fine,' he said. 'Never mind me, we need to help those villagers.' 

'If we're smart about it, we might even be able to save everyone.' The dryness in Felix's voice suggested sarcasm, but Byleth knew Felix long enough to suspect the attitude was something Felix pulled around himself like a cloak against the weather. 

'We have to prioritise the villagers who aren't sick, surely?' said Annette. 

'Let's not be hasty,' said Sylvain. 'If we're careful, we could disarm the infected villagers and allow the rest to escape.'

'Your Highness.' Dedue tapped at Dimitri's shoulder, pointing his chin where Remire gently rose to meet the Oghma Mountains. 'Those men appear to be observing the village.'

Byleth followed Dedue's gaze, spotting a group of soldiers in dark colours standing apart from the rampaging villagers and burning buildings. 'Nice catch.' 

Dedue ducked his head as if to hide his red cheeks. He was an intelligent man, but rarely shared his insight and opinions with anyone save Dimitri. 'What are we to do about them, your Highness?' 

'If they're the ones responsible for this madness, it's obvious what must be done.' Dimitri crossed his arms, and he was looking at Byleth but also through him, as if Byleth didn't exist. 'Kill them all. Don't allow any of them to escape; tear their limbs apart and crush their wicked skulls.' 

His voice was no more than a snarl and Byleth felt it scratch like a cold hand at his spine.

From behind Dimitri, he saw Felix raise his eyebrows. _I warned you._

*

Winter had set in. Up in the mountains where Garreg Mach sat, mornings found the world covered in a lacy blanket of hoarfrost. Icy winds from Northern Faerghus nipped at bare skin like the wolves the Moon was named after. 

Stepping into Remire proper was like entering a furnace, the air hot and heavy and clawing at Byleth's throat with black smoke. The contrast added to the feeling of wrongness, cut the village off from the rest of Fòdlan. Remire felt untouched by the season and perhaps beyond saving.

'Cease with these dire fancies at once,' said Sothis. 'You're here, aren't you? Of course you can help these poor souls.' 

Byleth shook his head, but not at Sothis. Inside the village, the screams were at once louder and more muffled, as if the smoke was swallowing the fear and pain and cries for help. In his years as a mercenary, Byleth had seen many atrocities men committed against nature and each other. Some would even argue he was responsible for some of them. But this was a larger scale by far, invoking memories of war from the olden days and the piles of corpses left in battlefields soaked in blood. This was--

'Hell,' said Dimitri. Byleth hadn't noticed Dimitri was standing so close until he spoke, the word descriptive and a curse at the same time. 

'Are you sure you'll be all right?' said Byleth. 

'Give us your orders, professor.' Dimitri's face was pale, his lips set in a grim line as he unsheathed his sword. 

'You will stay close to me.' Byleth went on, aware Dimitri had opened his mouth to protest, 'The group needs to split up so we can cover more ground. You and I will watch their backs.' 

'Very well.' Dimitri nodded at his classmates as they moved to their assigned areas, their battalions surrounding them in precise formations. The Blue Lions had proven themselves to Byleth many times over, but he was still glad they weren't going to battle alone. 

He sent Sylvain, Ingrid, and Caspar ahead; they could reach the side of Remire that hugged the mountains faster on their mounts. They'd move from the north down, looking for villagers who needed help, while the rest of the group would start scouting from the southern tip of Remire. 

'Try not to engage with those soldiers until we're sure the villagers are safe,' said Byleth. 'I don't want civilians to get caught in the battle.' 

'Understood,' said Ingrid, giving Byleth a wave as she flew off with her pegasus knights. 

Byleth approached the watchtower, where a group of knights were updating Jeralt on the situation. 'Jeralt?'

'Don't worry about us,' said Jeralt. 'We'll try not to get under your feet. 

'Oh fuck off.' 

Jeralt laughed. 'Jests aside, I trust your students and we'll be following their lead in this battle.' He turned to Dimitri. 'I hope they won't let you down.'

'I--yes.' Dimitri flustered out of his polite conversation was a rare sight and Byleth tried to commit it to memory. 'We'll do our best, sir.'

Byleth gave Jeralt the sign for luck, the gesture was a habit among Jeralt's group and he hoped it would distract Jeralt from saying anything embarrassing. 'Let's go.' 

*

iii. Blue Lions, Red Wolf Moon 

The librarian Tomas turned out to be an old mage called Solon and, for some reason, the Death Knight had come to his aid. This seemed to fill the old man's head with more hot air and he kept preaching about experimenting on lowly beasts until Byleth was ready to wring the old man's neck with his bare hands. 

'We've gathered everyone next to the watchtower,' said Sylvain, who was looking very pale under the soot and drying blood. He must have noticed Byleth staring, because he added, 'Not mine. But a poor villager almost got his arm cut off. Mercedes is looking after all of them.' 

'What about Ingrid and Caspar?' said Byleth. 

'Waiting for us just outside the village. Felix and Ashe are with them.' Sylvain gave Dimitri a glance before turning back to Byleth. 'Are we going after the Death Knight, professor?' 

'Solon first,' said Dimitri. At some point he'd switched his sword out for a lance, which he held as if he was ready to strike everyone down, friend or foe alike. This didn't seem to bother Sylvain, who simply rolled his eyes at Dimitri's impatience.

Byleth shrugged. 'I won't stop you if you did. If you can get him to talk, I'll even thank you.'

'Sounds good to me.' Sylvain got back on his horse. Both mount and master looked the worse for wear; they'd been trying to contain the situation in the village for the better part of an hour. 'I'll go tell the others.' 

'Fall back if things look too ugly,' said Byleth.

Sylvain raised an eyebrow and gave Byleth a small smile, but said nothing. He waved before urging his horse back into the woods. 

'Are you going to challenge my decision?' said Byleth, his voice bright. Dimitri had been giving him a look that had him bracing for another argument, and not one he particularly wanted to have. Not with Dimitri still acting strange and looking for blood. 

Dimitri sighed and looked away. 'I'm sorry. We don't have time for this.'

'Damn right.' Byleth motioned at Jeralt to follow. ' _We_ are going for Solon.' 

Dimitri's face lightened, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and Byleth would have thought it a refreshing sight had it not been powered by Dimitri's need to crush some skulls. 

'You found him quite attractive earlier,' said Sothis, her tone carefully neutral.

'A lady would know not to hit a man when he is down.' Byleth had been hoping Sothis wouldn't mention his momentary lapse in judgement, but that was like hoping Sylvain behaves for a whole day. 

'I'm not a lady.' Sothis cackled. 'Now go, the prince is waiting for you.' 

Solon and his men were surveying the village from the ledge that supported the town's windmill. The structure had survived the villagers' mad rush to destroy and burn everything they touched, but it wasn't unscathed: the sail stocks were singed and the door to the tower forced open with an axe. Cichol knew what havoc they had wreaked inside. 

Remire swore fealty to Arundel, which meant the lord should have shouldered the cost of something as expensive as a tower mill. The book Dimitri had pulled from the restricted section of the library recorded Lord Arundel's failings to the Church and he'd mentioned being low on funds when he'd visited Garreg Mach, but Byleth already knew the lord had done nothing for Remire: the villagers had told him about paying for their expenses themselves, everyone chipping in with either gold or labour.

People who were only doing their best to survive, sacrificed for the sake of experimentation by a man who mocked their existence--Byleth bit his lip. Dimitri wasn't the only one who wanted Solon's blood, and Byleth's calm was a carefully balanced thing that threatened to tip at the right provocation. 

'Kid.' Jeralt urged his horse to trot next to Byleth. There was something soothing about the gesture; they'd done most of their travelling in this way, Byleth walking next to Braganza while Jeralt surveyed the path and talked about nothing in particular. 'Don't get carried away.' 

Byleth considered lying, but decided it wasn't worth his or Jeralt's time. 'Sorry.' 

'Those kids depend on you and him.' Jeralt pointed with his chin at Dimitri, who had gone ahead with Dedue to give them some privacy. 'You can't both lose your heads at the same time.' 

'I'll keep that in mind,' said Byleth. 

Jeralt reached down to tousle Byleth's hair, which he endured with a pout. 

'Professor?' said Dimitri. He'd stopped next to the ruins of a house, a stone's throw away from the ledge where Solon and his men stood. 

Byleth could hear shouts and the sounds of fighting nearby; Sylvain's group must have engaged with the Death Knight already. 'Let's get this over with.'

*

Byleth had opted to fight with a regular weapon instead of the Sword of the Creator; he thought Solon would be very interested in the relic and didn't want to provide the old man with even more information than what he'd already gathered from Remire. 

And there was no doubt he was studying them. Solon had sent his troops to deter Byleth and the Blue Lions from advancing across the ledge. Even from afar, Byleth could see the old man's eyes glitter like dark glass set in a death mask. 

'Professor!' Dedue swung his axe at a retreating enemy and missed. He didn't have time to try again as a female warrior charged at him. Her own axe broke his leather shield in half. 

Byleth parried a blow from Solon's swordsman, pulling away long enough to send a streak of magical lightning at the fleeing enemy. The man cried out in pain before collapsing to the ground. Finding Byleth distracted, the swordsman managed to get past Byleth's guard and swooped in to stab his heart. The man certainly didn't waste his movement. Byleth barely managed to move aside, his armour deflecting the blade so it swung at an angle and landed a deep gash on his left arm. 

'Fuck.' 

Byleth's grip tightened on his sword by reflex and he scrambled to get his footing back as the swordsman moved forward to push his advantage. Byleth raised his shield and braced himself for the impact. 

The man fell down at Byleth's feet, his back still burning from a fire ball. 

'Thank you, Annette.' 

She beamed back at him before sneaking off to help Dedue. Byleth finally caught up with Dimitri, who was standing in front of Solon. That wasn't ideal; Dimitri had what mercenaries called a 'dodge or die' weakness against magical attacks. People who had a higher affinity for magic built up a resistance since they were exposed to it constantly, but Dimitri's exposure consisted mainly of watching his classmates practise magic at school. Byleth wasn't surprised Dimitri had gone straight for Solon, but he didn't want to think of what could have happened while everyone else was occupied with Solon's little companions.

Dedue would tear the head off Byleth's body. 

'The cursed Fell Star,' said Solon, eyeing Byleth. 'It would be interesting to study the measure of your power.' 

Dimitri stepped in front of Byleth, a sweet gesture but Byleth wished he wouldn't; _he_ wouldn't be hanged if Byleth died in battle. 

'Dimitri.' Byleth pushed Dimitri aside before rushing at Solon. He could feel every hair on his body stand on end as Solon readied an attack. Fucking dark mages. Stepping close to the old man felt like the sharp edge of a knife scraping against glass--Byleth gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the part of his brain that was telling him to run away as far as possible. 

Byleth swung his sword, aiming to incapacitate rather than kill--they needed the old man alive for questioning--and managed to cut Solon's thigh open just as Solon's spell hit. The old man was faster than he'd expected. Byleth fell, his vision darkening from pain and the miasma, the nothingness that threatened to suffocate him and squeeze the last drop of blood from his body. He gasped, 'Now.'

Dimitri must have taken his cue, because Byleth heard a faint crack and Solon's grunt of pain. Byleth still couldn't see, but he heard the thunder of horse hooves and Jeralt's voice. 

'Why this village? What the hell are you planning?' 

Solon tried to laugh and came out with a wet wheeze. Byleth hoped Dimitri had broken the old man's ribs. 'The area itself is of no importance; our concern is the process, not the test subjects. It's over.' 

Jeralt yelled just as a flash of light pierced through the darkness that enveloped Byleth.

'Fuck,' said Jeralt.

The pain was fading and Byleth realised someone was holding him; a steadying arm around his shoulders and a hand on his hip. He could smell blood and metal, and the faint scent of crushed woodruff. 'Dimitri.' 

'He got away,' said Dimitri. 'Are you all right, professor?'

Byleth blinked. In the light of the setting sun, Dimitri's hair looked to be burning gold. 'You're too bright.' 

Dimitri laughed. 'I take it you can see again?' 

'You okay, kid?' said Jeralt. 

Byleth grunted. What he really wanted was to lie on the grass and take a nap, but he forced himself to stand up. Dimitri had to support most of his weight, but he managed to stay upright by holding on to Dimitri's arm. 'I'll be fine. What about the villagers?' 

'We're sending for more physicians from Garreg Mach,' said Jeralt. 'If Lady Rhea wills it, we're going to relocate the survivors to the monastery temporarily, but we need to make arrangements for the people who aren't fit to travel.' 

'We're going to have to speak with Adele,' said Byleth. Adele was Remire's mayor and her family had shouldered about a third of the expenses for the mill tower. 'She's safe?' 

'Ordering my knights around to do her bidding.' Jeralt laughed. 'Can you move?'

'Of course I can move,' said Byleth, finally letting go of Dimitri's arm. 'Let's go.'

'I'll do a quick sweep of the village,' said Dimitri. 'There might still be some survivors hiding out there.' 

'Bring Dedue with you,' said Byleth. 'And the rest who fought the Death Knight.' 

'Of course. We'll meet you at the watchtower, then.' Dimitri gave Jeralt a shallow bow before walking off. 

Byleth watched Dimitri from the ledge, waiting until he saw Dedue and Annette reunite with the prince before following Jeralt. 

*

iv. Blue Lions, Red Wolf Moon

Under Adele's capable leadership, the knights and the able-bodied villagers managed to put up tents before night fell. The wounded, the elderly, and the children were given priority to shelter, while everyone else looked for a comfortable bit of ground outside and started a campfire. 

Byleth had gathered his students at the edge of the camp, where they could keep a lookout for bandits and wild animals. The Blue Lions didn't seem to mind--in fact, Caspar was very excited about sleeping outside and possibly meeting a bear--but Byleth wouldn't have risked his noble charges had it not been for Jeralt and his knights keeping watch over everyone. 

'Did you help make these?' said Caspar, as Ashe and Mercedes handed out small loaves of bread and rabbit skewers. 

'I helped my parents out a lot when I was a kid.' Ashe sat next to Caspar on the ground. 'They used to own a tavern.'

'No wonder you're so good at cooking,' said Annette. 'With you, Mercie, and Dedue in charge of cooking, I don't feel worried at all.'

'As long as you and Caspar don't bother them,' said Sylvain. He gasped in mock indignation when the pebble Caspar threw at him hit him on the head. 'Not the face, Bergliez, if you please.' 

'Professor?' said Dimitri. He was sitting on a tree root next to Byleth and pitched his voice low so no one else would hear. 'Do you--If we could speak privately?' 

'Would you join me for a walk, Dimitri?' said Byleth, aloud. He caught Sylvain's raised eyebrows, which he chose to ignore. 'We need to man the area around camp. Let's go tell Jeralt.' 

Once out of earshot, he added, 'Sylvain likely thinks I'm going to ravish you in the woods.' 

Dimitri made a sound that Byleth assumed was him choking on his own spit. There wasn't enough light to see his face, which was a pity.

'Did you say that just to see how I'd react?' 

'Smart kid,' said Sothis. 

'I'm sorry,' said Byleth. 'You looked troubled and I wanted to lighten up the mood.' 

He'd walked ahead, but stopped when he realised he couldn't hear Dimitri's footsteps behind him. Dimitri was pulling at the hem of his tunic, moonlight catching on his gauntlets so Byleth noticed the movement even in the dark. 

'Dimitri?' 

'I'm sorry for how I acted earlier.' Dimitri's consonants were crisp, his nobleman's accent slipping out like it never did when he was angry. Byleth didn't think the prince was used to apologising, but he appreciated the effort. 

'You've argued and yelled at me countless times before,' said Byleth. He knew Dimitri couldn't see his face, so he made sure his voice sounded like he was smiling. 

'I--' Dimitri sighed. 'This is different. It's a side of me I wish you didn't--you hadn't seen.' 

Byleth shrugged. 'I felt the same, you know.' When Dimitri didn't answer, he went on, 'Jeralt gave me a bit of a lecture, before we reached Solon.'

'Oh, that--' 

'Yes.' Byleth laughed. 'That.'

'I don't have a connection to the villagers like you do,' said Dimitri. 'But I have seen it before; the fire that destroys everything and the cries of despair. Solon and the Flame Emperor--what they'd done is unforgivable.' 

Byleth knew Dimitri had been with King Lambert and his retinue when they got killed in Duscur, but this was the first time Dimitri had talked about the event himself, however obliquely. 'Dimitri.' 

'Four years ago, I was unable to do anything.' Dimitri took a deep breath. 'And now, all we can do is help the survivors resume their normal lives if possible.' 

'You were a child,' said Byleth. 

'Thank you, professor.' Dimitri bowed before turning away. 'You know, the reason I came to the Officers Academy--the only reason--is to get revenge. One day, I will have it.' 

Byleth watched him walk back to camp. 

'Aren't you going to follow him?' said Sothis. 

'I'm going to look for Jeralt.' As if to emphasise his point, Byleth headed off in the opposite direction. 

'Your father doesn't require your presence at the moment.'

'No, but I require some of that whiskey he and his officers are drinking right now,' said Byleth. 

Sothis let out a rush of breath. She was annoyed, but obviously trying not to shout at Byleth. 'Why?' 

He didn't know how to explain the dull pain that had settled deep in his chest; the weight of a promise and the terrible shape of a moonless night. He didn't have the words, or he didn't want to find them, and the whiskey didn't ask questions. 

He wanted to forget. 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how this chapter ended up getting this long. But thanks so much for reading, if you got this far!


	4. White Clouds: Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth goes to the Officers Academy Ball and steps on many toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my challenge to myself was to only write canon scenes (when I'm writing canon scenes, that is) that you can see with m!Byleth. But you know what, there was no reason not to have a goddess tower scene with Dimitri. I mean, he was already talking to us?? I don't understand.

i. Blue Lions, Ethereal Moon

Everyone was talking about the ball, which was a welcome change from the public's ongoing debate about the knights' response to Remire. Most of them praised Lady Rhea for her generosity in granting the survivors sanctuary, but there were a vocal few who wondered if the calamity would have happened at all had the knights arrived sooner. 

Byleth was happy about the new trend; he knew Jeralt took the whole affair harder than he was willing to show and Byleth thought some people were being too harsh on the knights. Unfortunately, the topic itself filled him with a different kind of dread. 

'You don't know how to dance?' said Manuela, her eyes widening in surprise. 

Byleth tried not to squirm in his seat. They were having tea in the infirmary, but not even Manuela's excellent gingerbread biscuits could distract him from the looming threat of dancing and the Heron Cup. 'I was a mercenary. There was no need for me to learn.' 

'Well.' Manuela reached out, tracing loops on his forearm with a fingernail. 'You came to the right place.' 

Byleth had barely gotten his hopes--among other things--up, and then Manuela winked. The gesture somehow managed to convey camaraderie while shutting down any chances of further flirtation. He sighed. 

'You have perhaps aimed too high,' said Sothis. 

'While the future king of Faerghus is within easy reach?' said Byleth. 

'No need to snap at me, young man.' He felt her phantom fist hit what could only be his mental skull. 'It's not my fault your face is more pretty than handsome.' 

Byleth buried his face in his hands. 

'Oh professor, there's no need for despair,' said Manuela. 'I've seen your footwork; I'm sure you'll pick up dancing in no time at all.'

'You're too kind,' said Byleth. 

'Well then.' 

Byleth felt Manuela's hands on his wrists and he unburied his regrettably pretty face to look at her. 'Are we starting now?' 

'No time like the present.' Manuela pulled him up from his seat. 'Stand up straight. Arm on my waist, please.' She held his hand at an angle from their bodies while he tried to follow her instructions. 'What you need to remember is, you frame your partner like she's a beautiful painting.' 

She laughed at the expression on his face. 'But don't let her overpower you. It's a mutual endeavour, after all.' 

'What are the chances I won't need to dance at the ball?' said Byleth. 

'A lot of the students have been waiting for this moment, professor,' said Manuela. 'I wouldn't bet on it.' 

Of course.

*

'Have you chosen our representative for the Heron Cup?' 

Byleth delayed looking up from the papers he was marking as long as he could without ignoring Dimitri entirely. 'Are you volunteering?' 

'Not at all.' The vehemence in Dimitri's voice told Byleth he had found a kindred soul amidst the chaos of festive preparations. 'I was just curious.' 

Byleth placed his quill on the table and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. 'You want to get some sword practise in?' 

Sothis snorted. 

'Shut up,' said Byleth. 

'With you?' said Dimitri, placing both hands on Byleth's table. 

'No, with Alois.' Byleth laughed as Dimitri made a face. 'Who else?' 

'You're usually busy.' 

'I can make time.' Byleth endured Dimitri's suspicious look for a few seconds before caving. 'I'm trying to avoid dancing lessons with Professor Manuela.' 

'That was me as a kid,' said Dimitri. 'The only experience most nobles have with a sword is making sure they don't trip on it when they dance. It's different in Faerghus, of course.' 

'How do you bear it?' Byleth tried to imagine Dimitri all dolled up for grand occasions, then realised Dimitri was born to that kind of life. Forgetting he was the crown prince was easy when he was helping with the cooking and weeding and fixing weapons, but the accent and politeness had obviously come from generations of fancy tea sets and the taxation of peasants. 

'If I had a choice, I wouldn't,' said Dimitri. He tilted his head to one side. 'You're thinking throwing a ball is just another way for the rich to waste resources, aren't you?' 

'Not quite.' Byleth smiled. 'Does it bother you?' 

Dimitri shrugged. 'Only because you're right. There's something this useless noble can do for you, though.'

'Oh?' 

Dimitri offered Byleth his arm. 'Get you out of here before Professor Manuela fetches you for your dancing lessons?' 

'Thank you, kind sir.' Byleth stood up and took Dimitri's arm. Manuela raised her eyebrows as they walked past her in the courtyard, and he managed to rustle up an appropriately apologetic face. 

'You're not above using the nobility to get what you want either,' Sothis pointed out. 'She can't hound you about dancing lessons when you're hanging all over the prince's arm like this.' 

'Have I not suffered enough for you?' said Byleth. 

'Suffer?' said Sothis. 'You seem to be enjoying yourself.'

Byleth sighed and let go of Dimitri. 'All right. I'll go back to my room after this and practise dancing if you'll help me out.' 

'Why don't you ask him?' said Sothis. 

They had reached the training grounds. Byleth picked out wooden practise swords while Dimitri fetched padded armour from the storage area in the back. 'I'd rather not.' 

*

'Hey, how come you're sparring with the professor?' Caspar dragged Felix across the hay-strewn grounds as Byleth helped Dimitri buckle on the padded breastplate. 

'Just luck,' said Dimitri, at the same time Felix said, 'He's the favourite.' 

'I don't have favourites,' said Byleth. He held out two of the arm guards to Felix. 'Could you help us with this?' 

Felix rolled his eyes but didn't complain as he helped Dimitri put on the rest of the padded armour. Caspar did the same for Byleth. 

'Last time me and Raphael sparred with Blaiddyd, I felt it for a week.' Caspar grinned. 'Let's see how well you do.' 

'Your faith in me is touching,' said Byleth. But Caspar was right; whatever advantage Byleth had over Dimitri wouldn't matter if Dimitri got past Byleth's guard and landed a couple of his lance-breaking blows. 

'Ready?' said Felix. 

'Ready.' Byleth lifted his sword in the guard position and watched Dimitri do the same. Dimitri fought like a Kingdom noble: straightforward and spare, if not particularly elegant. But that was fine. Byleth was a mercenary, not a performing swordsman. He preferred this technique better; there was no need to draw the fight out and he didn't have to worry about fancy footwork. 

'Begin!' Caspar's voice joined Felix's, loud and excited. From his peripheral vision, Byleth could see a couple of squires dropping what they were doing to watch. He wondered if bets were being made. 

Dimitri tapped his sword against Byleth's, quick and with just enough force to make Byleth jump. 'May I have your attention, professor?'

Cheeky little fucker. Byleth smiled and swung low, forcing Dimitri to step back. 

'Hey,' said Dimitri. 'Not fair.'

'A gentleman to a fault,' said Byleth. He parried a blow to his right; Dimitri had recovered quickly enough to aim at his exposed side. Byleth ran Dimitri through a series of thrusts and ripostes. His arm started to feel the strain of meeting Dimitri's blows as he began moving in earnest, and Byleth had to bring out some of the fancy footwork after all just to stay ahead. 

The prince favoured his right, something Byleth had been trying to drill out of him the past few months but wasn't above exploiting. Maybe this would force Dimitri to remember. Byleth slammed the flat side of his practise sword against Dimitri's left side and stepped out of reach. 

'Professor!' said Felix, giving Byleth the first round. 

'Two out of three?' said Dimitri, his hand on the area Byleth had struck. 

'Sure.'

Byleth was getting tired; he'd have to win the next round or he might end up sporting horrible bruises at the ball. 

'Did that stop you from whacking your sword against the poor prince like that?' said Sothis. 

'I don't bear the Crest of Blaiddyd.' Byleth eased into the guard position again, waiting for Felix's signal. 

'Your temper runs shorter than usual.' 

People were on edge. Just that morning, Byleth had sat down to breakfast in the dining hall and pretended not to hear the sobs of a little girl seated at a corner table. A nun was trying to get her to eat, but Byleth doubted the kid could even see the plate of sandwiches through her tears. The gossip and debates had moved swiftly on from the tragedy in Remire, but the same couldn't be said about the survivors. 

The dining hall, usually a place where you had to shout to be heard, was quiet and subdued. Everyone ignored the little girl, but the guilt and recriminations hung in the air like thick smoke whenever it was Caspar's turn to make dinner.

'Professor,' said Dimitri. 'Am I really so uninteresting?' 

There was humour in his voice, but his movements were calm and deliberate. Moving backwards, Byleth felt his boot bump against a pillar and realised just how far Dimitri had managed to push him. 

'You've lost too much ground,' said Sothis, helpfully. 

'You don't say.' There was little room to manoeuvre; Byleth saw Dimitri's sword coming from the left and knew he wouldn't be able to parry cleanly. 

He dropped on his haunches as Dimitri stepped forward, hooking his foot on the back of Dimitri's knee and bringing him down with a tug. 

'Fuck.' The expletive sounded sharper in Dimitri's accent; the vowel fading against the delicious crispness of his k. Dimitri had the sense to relax as he fell, moving his wrist so the blade of his sword faced away from himself. 

Byleth stayed where he was. He had moved before thinking, the instincts he'd cultivated as a mercenary kicking in. In that line of work, victory meant survival and honour sometimes had to be weighed against the lives of innocent people. 

'Sorry.' Byleth let out a grunt as he took the brunt of Dimitri's fall. He was prepared for it, but the prince was no delicate fop whose weight was half gems and brocade, especially not in his padded armour. Dimitri rolled off to lessen the impact and stopped with his back on the ground. 

Byleth leaned forward to check if Dimitri was all right. The prince was grinning. His face was flushed from exertion and shiny with sweat; the smile made him look like he was glowing.

'I definitely have much to learn,' he said. 

'I'm not sure I should give you the point,' said Felix. 

'Fair enough--' said Byleth.

'But this is one of the few times I've heard him curse.' Felix laughed. 'What do you think the old man would say?' 

Dimitri sat up. 'You wouldn't.' 

Felix shrugged. 'Being ready against trickery is another part of the battle.'

Byleth stood up, brushing hay and dust from the seat of his trousers. 'Are you really saying that?' 

'He fell into Leonie's trap a while back,' said Caspar. 

That would explain it. Byleth smiled as he held out a hand to Dimitri. 

'Thank you.' 

'Fighting is better,' said Byleth, reaching out to pluck the wisps of hay from Dimitri's hair. The strands looked almost translucent against Byleth's glove, like touching sunlight. 

'Yes?' said Dimitri. 

'There are no winners in dancing.' 

'Is that really important?' 

Byleth tilted his head to one side. 'What's the point otherwise?' 

'He's not wrong,' said Felix. 

'I think,' said Dimitri, in that slow way he had whenever he was deep in thought, like he was weighing his words against his ideas. 'Dancing is meant to be its own reward. To hold a person close and to share that moment, even briefly, is winning.' He paused before adding, 'Probably.' 

'Well?' said Byleth. 'Is he right?' 

'Why don't you try?' Sothis laughed. 

*

ii. Blue Lions, Ethereal Moon

Byleth was glad for his lessons when Claude pulled him onto the dance floor with a wink and a laugh. Claude was gracious enough to assume the woman's role, allowing Byleth to lead even though he was obviously the superior dancer. 

'Dancing is fun, isn't it?' said Sothis. 

'It's not bad.' Dancing with Claude was fun: he talked about the food and gossip and the strange hats some of the students were wearing. After a while, Byleth forgot to worry about his feet, letting the music and whatever knowledge Manuela had managed to drill into him take over. 

But the problem with these kinds of dances was people changed partners, and Byleth found there were two types of people in the ball: those who stepped on his feet and those whose feet he stepped on. He'd managed to sit down and eat a whole meat pie by himself, but he could feel the students watching, some of them waiting right next to him and offering him drinks. All of them ready to whisk him off again. 

'What, you're running off already?' said Sothis, as Byleth escaped into the courtyard. 

He pulled his coat more tightly around himself. Garreg Mach enjoyed a surprisingly mild winter, especially since they were on top of the mountains--he wondered if it had something to do with the way the monastery was built or maybe the blessing of Seiros, but the weather wasn't as bad as in the northern parts of Faerghus. Even so, Byleth had never been good with the cold. 

'Being so popular must be hard on you.' 

'It's hard on my feet,' said Byleth. He didn't deny her comment on his popularity; Sothis had no use for false modesty and the crowd of students asking him to dance was proof they liked him well enough to bear being stepped on. 

'There's someone--' Sothis's voice sounded ready for intrigue until she recognised the person approaching. 'Oh, it's the prince.' 

'Professor,' said Dimitri, stepping closer to Byleth. 'What are you doing here?'

'Aren't you going to dance with Edelgard?' Byleth was surprised to hear the edge in his own voice. 

'Stop teasing.' Dimitri's laugh ended before it had a chance to become unforced. 'She taught me how to dance, you know. Her instruction was rather,' he paused, probably to consider whether to be honest or polite, 'strict.' 

'You grew up together?' 

'She and her uncle spent some time in Faerghus during the political unrest in the Empire.' Dimitri shrugged. 'My stepmother treated me like her real son, but she never mentioned having children of her own. I didn't know Edelgard was her daughter.' 

'Perhaps you can still reconnect,' said Byleth. 'Family is important, isn't it?' 

'I think it's too late for that,' said Dimitri. 'We've both changed too much.' He smiled, his voice taking on the sharpness of forced cheerfulness. 'But don't let me keep you--' 

'I know this one,' said Byleth. Dimitri was looking at him blankly, so he went on, 'They play this song in taverns sometimes, or village dances. It's a group dance.' 

'Is it?' Dimitri looked doubtful but allowed Byleth to lead him through the first few steps of the dance. Berenice and Marcus had taught him this one, the three of them trying to keep up with the steadily increasing tempo of the music, their hands and feet moving in a blur. 

For some reason, Byleth was struggling. The music refused to cooperate and he felt like he was climbing up a flight of stairs where the steps weren't where he remembered them. Dimitri finally took pity on him, holding him like Manuela instructed and helping him through the steps. He didn't complain or make fun whenever Byleth stepped on his toes. 

'A variation, probably,' said Dimitri. 

'It was faster.' Byleth frowned. 'And more fun that way.' 

'This isn't bad.' Dimitri was still holding him, and Byleth realised how warm the prince was, under the fine wool and silver embroidery.

'Hm,' said Byleth. 

'I won.' Dimitri smiled. 'I think.'

Byleth didn't feel like he'd lost, but saying so would answer the question Dimitri hadn't asked, so he said, 'I didn't think it was a competition.' 

'If you don't step away now,' said Sothis, 'you'll be,' she paused and Byleth braced himself against another one of her lascivious quips, 'giving him ideas.'

'That was tame,' said Byleth, moving away from Dimitri with a sigh. The prince would work perfectly as a human-sized hot water bottle. 

'Professor,' said Dimitri. 'Would you like to come with me?' 

*

The prince led Byleth to the goddess tower. Byleth had heard of the superstition; couples going to the tower the night of the ball to make a wish, all part of the gossip that had made the rounds of the monastery months in advance. 

'If you kill me here and throw my body down the tower, it would take ages before people find out,' said Byleth. 

Dimitri joined Byleth at the window and looked down. Unless his eyesight was better than Byleth's, all he would see were the dark shapes of trees and the pinpricks of light from the nearby village. 

'Not you,' said Dimitri. 'People would be looking for you.' 

'But you've thought about it.' Byleth smiled. 

'Now you've made me consider? Yes.' Dimitri laughed. 'Do you know about the superstition surrounding this tower, professor?' 

'I've heard of it.' The darkness made mirrors of the window panes and Byleth didn't have to turn around to look at Dimitri, whose face was reflected on top of the night sky and bisected by the dark jagged lines of the Oghma mountains. 

'You don't seem like the type who'd listen to such things,' said Dimitri. He might have been looking at Byleth's reflection, or the view beyond him. 

'I listen to all sorts of things,' said Byleth. 'Believing them is another matter entirely.' 

'I don't believe the goddess could hear us.' Dimitri's voice was flat, like he was solving for the trajectory of trebuchets in class: a boulder of such size and weight thrown from this angle would generate this amount of force against that part of the wall. 'But even if she could, she won't be able to reach us. There might as well be a sheet of glass,' he reached out to tap at the window, 'between our world and hers.' 

'But it gives you comfort,' said Byleth, 'to think someone is listening.' 

Dimitri let out a rush of breath that Byleth felt against his ear. The prince was standing too close. 

'Shall we make a wish, professor?' 

Tradition called for a man and a woman to make that wish together, but Byleth didn't think it mattered. Not when neither of them believed in superstitions. 'It's a promise, isn't it? The people who come here are making promises.'

'Then shall we promise to be together forever?' 

Byleth said nothing. He remembered the sadness he'd felt in Remire and wished he had refused to follow Dimitri up the tower. 

Dimitri laughed again, this time Byleth could hear him as well as feel the warmth of his breath. 'Am I getting better at joking, professor?'

'You shouldn't.' Byleth turned around to face Dimitri, meeting his eyes until Dimitri looked away. 'Don't make promises we both know you don't intend to keep.' 

'We'd be here only for a short while,' Dimitri had said, all those months ago. Byleth hadn't known what Dimitri had meant then, but now he had the key to the cypher of Dimitri's dark moods and strange behaviour. Dimitri himself had handed it to Byleth that night in Remire. 

Revenge.

'What is this to you?' said Byleth. 

'This.' Dimitri took a step back, but he sounded sad instead of angry, and he didn't pretend not to understand what Byleth was talking about. 'This is when I stop and realise the sky is blue.' 

'Does it please Your Highness?' Despite himself, Byleth smiled.

'Professor,' said Dimitri. His tone made Byleth feel like Dimitri had said his name instead. 'It pleases me greatly.' 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you went 'hey I've read that conversation before' at the ball scene, you are right, I copy/pasted that bit from another fic I wrote. Aha, it worked well enough the first time amirite? ;) 
> 
> Anyway, I had some chapters of this written before I started posting, but--and you guessed it--I'm starting to catch up with myself. Please send your thoughts and prayers. 🙇


	5. White Clouds: Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth mourns Jeralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I thought I'd be able to update weekly but I realised--especially as I hit the war phase--I won't be able to write that quickly, so uh we'll see. If you want to find me shouting about mByleth I'm @actually5anta on twitter!
> 
> Why am I writing these notes as if people are reading this lmaooo

i. Blue Lions, Ethereal Moon

A few days after Prince Dimitri's birthday, Jeralt was killed by a student from the Officers Academy. 

And for the first time in his twenty-one years, Byleth cried. 

*

ii. 

Someone--Byleth thought it was Dedue from the next room, quiet and regular and thoughtful--made sure to leave a tray of food in front of his door at regular intervals. They lent a structure to his otherwise formless days, marked the passing of time when Byleth wasn't paying particular attention. 

Everything else was fluid and washed out, as if that rainy day in the abandoned chapel hadn't ended. As if all the hours that came after was a mere continuation and the rain would never stop falling in Byleth's mind: the sound of it drumming against the ground, drowning everything else. 

The space Jeralt used to occupy remained a Jeralt-shaped hollowness. He'd spent the last few months away on Church business and sometimes--waking from fitful sleep and wondering where he was--Byleth would remember Jeralt won't be coming back. The panic thrummed across his body until he wanted to scream. 

'You can cry,' said Sothis, holding Byleth close. 'If you want to.' 

He hid his face in her lap and felt her running her hand through his hair. 

'Remember you're not alone.' 

*

Going outside meant having to endure the condolences, the curious looks that seemed to bruise his skin, but Byleth needed to retrieve something from Jeralt's office. He had no idea what it was, but Jeralt had wanted him to have it. 

Behind a book about freshwater fish, Byleth found a book bound in leather and a small pouch. 

'Aren't you going to open them?' said Sothis. 

The fact they were physical things Jeralt had owned and left to Byleth was enough; he didn't think he needed to know their secrets. He held the book to his chest, his fingertips pressing against the soft coolness of the leather as he caught the comforting smell of parchment and ink. 

'You jest,' said Sothis. 'You might not be curious, but I am.' 

She wasn't going to let this go. Byleth sighed and leaned against Jeralt's table--which wasn't Jeralt's any more. Lady Rhea would need to name a new captain soon, but Byleth's mind skittered away from the thought, left it untouched until it became something he must confront. 

For now, he could open the pouch and then the book, satisfy Sothis's curiosity before heading back to his room and pretending the last few days hadn't happened. 

'Good grief,' said Sothis. But her voice lacked her usual fire, her impatience for what she considered Byleth's lack of drive and ambition. 'Let's just see it, then.' 

He pulled the drawstrings to open the pouch and found his mother's ring inside. 

'He wanted you to give that to the person you love.' 

Sothis leaned over his shoulder, and Byleth held out the ring so she could take a better look. A simple silver band set with purple stones. 

'Looks like amethyst,' said Sothis. 

Byleth tried the ring on. It fitted snugly against the second knuckle of his pinky; his mother must have had really small hands. 

'And the book?' 

He shrugged, hopping onto the desk so he was sitting down as he inspected the book. The leather was scuffed and shiny from years of handling. Jeralt's hands did that, Byleth thought, his own fingers moving across the cover before flipping it open. The parchment pages were yellowing with age and only three-quarters of them were covered in Jeralt's spidery handwriting. Byleth tried not to think of those empty pages, how Jeralt would never press the sharp tip of a quill against them. 

Empty. Days unlived.

'His script is quite pretty,' said Sothis. 'I wouldn't have thought so, looking at his face.'

Byleth snorted, turning pages without really paying attention. He rubbed a finger at words that bled muddily onto the page, where Jeralt had closed the book before the ink dried. On top of each page was the date and right after was a note on the weather, all of it recorded in the same careful way Jeralt accounted for supplies and expenses. 

Years ago, on a cloudy day followed by rain, a child had been born without a heartbeat. A child that never cried. 

Byleth was reading about Jeralt's worry and his escape from the monastery when Sothis hissed, 'Someone's coming.' 

'I thought you might be here.' 

Dimitri had walked with Byleth, that rainy night in the abandoned chapel. Walked and--when Byleth stopped giving fucks about going back to the monastery proper, or anywhere, or doing anything at all--carried him to his room, lowering him gently onto the bed and unlacing his boots. That happened a few days ago, if Byleth reckoned by the number of trays left outside his door. 

He felt like he hadn't heard Dimitri's voice in a lifetime. 

Dimitri didn't seem to expect a reply, walking into the room and close enough so Byleth could see the memory of shadows on his face, the darkness in Dimitri that can be seen only from the corner of one's eye. Close enough, but not too close that Byleth would feel suffocated by his presence. Byleth almost smiled; he was being treated like a wary cat and Dimitri didn't even like cats. 

'Lady Rhea wants to speak with you,' said Dimitri. 'And perhaps, after your audience, we might share a meal together?' 

Byleth continued to say nothing, his eyes travelling from Dimitri's face to Jeralt's diary and back again. He realised, from the narrowing of Dimitri's eyes, that the prince had noticed the ring on Byleth's pinky. Neither of them mentioned it. 

'No, of course not.' Dimitri laughed softly, and not unkindly. 'I'll make your excuses to the Archbishop.' He gave Byleth a shallow bow before heading for the door. 'We'll be waiting until you're ready to join us again.' 

Byleth tried to find his voice again, low and rusty from lack of use. 'Thank you.'

Deep in his heart, he heard Sothis sigh. 

'Four years ago, I lost everyone I loved,' said Dimitri. 'There is one thing that I owe the dead, the reason why I keep on living. Can you see that, professor?' 

The key Dimitri had given him. Byleth looked at his hand, the one that wore his mother's ring, and curled it into a fist. 

'Seteth and the knights are looking for the culprit as we speak,' Dimitri went on. 'We'll be waiting, professor.'

Byleth watched him leave and thought of one word: Revenge. 

*

iii. Black Eagles, Guardian Moon

Byleth had left Jeralt's office half an hour ago, walking around the monastery with the purposeful gait of someone who had no time to chat with people, but Sothis was still annoyed. 

'That child,' she said. 'Just saying whatever she pleased. Is that how they raise children in Adrestia?'

'I think she meant well.' Byleth had been angry as well; he didn't see how his grief had anything to do with Edelgard at all, or why he was supposed to move forward with her. But circling the Academy for the second time, he realised she'd meant only to rally his spirits. In a way, she was similar to Sothis: the tendency to tell him things he already knew in an effort to protect or comfort. No wonder Sothis was so angry. 

'I have been alive far too long,' said Sothis, tossing her head. 'My wisdom comes from experience and age. What does a brat like her know?' 

'Her life hasn't been all comfort and luxury either,' said Byleth. He only knew what Edelgard told him, but what little he knew wasn't something people should have gone through, let alone a little girl. 

Sothis sighed. 'Strength comes in many forms. Sometimes, admitting to weakness is the hardest thing to do.' 

'She's young.'

'And isn't that what I just said?' said Sothis, placing her hands on her hips. 

Byleth imagined himself bowing, hand placed on where his heart should be. If he had one. From what he'd read of Jeralt's diary, Byleth wasn't sure he did. 'I should have paid more attention.' 

This seemed to satisfy her. 'Now,' she said, in a softer tone. 'Do you think we could enjoy some Saghert cream?' 

Byleth never said no to food. 

*

On the way to the dining hall, Byleth saw Claude loitering near the pathway that connected the Academy to the main halls of Garreg Mach. He was reading a book, and Byleth gave him a perfunctory 'All right?' 

He didn't expect Claude would hear, let alone acknowledge his greeting, but Claude snapped the book closed and nodded. 

'I'm very sorry for your loss, professor.' He sounded more subdued than Byleth had ever heard him--even counting the times he performed contrition for Seteth's sake. 'My parents are still alive, so I can't say I know how it feels. And yet.' He smiled. 'The world moves on even if we're standing still. I find that comforting.' 

Byleth thought about it. 'I agree.' 

'See,' said Sothis. 'He understands.' 

*

iv. Golden Deer, Guardian Moon

Byleth sat on the chair that used to be Jeralt's and frowned at anyone who dared peek inside what used to be Jeralt's office. He looked at them, silent and unmoving, until they grew uncomfortable and left. Only then would he pick up Jeralt's diary and read on. 

The days before he was born were full of Sitri's smiles and the flowers Jeralt had given her in hopes of seeing her smile some more. Sothis grew tired of it in no time, sighing and fidgeting as Byleth discovered a side of Jeralt he hadn't known existed. The joys of loving and being loved in return. And Sitri: beautiful and gentle, but awkwardly strange. The kind of woman who said the right things at the wrong moment. 

'Before you were born, all he ever wrote about were flowers and romance,' said Sothis. 'Enough!' She tilted her head to one side. 'Someone's coming. Get yourself together; it won't do for anyone to see you like this.'

Like what, Byleth wondered. Dimitri had already seen him moping in this very same room, wearing Sitri's ring on his pinky. 

No, that couldn't be right. Byleth had been good about glaring people away from the office, and only Alois--Jeralt's old squire, blustering and good-natured and used to Jeralt's crabbiness--had the guts to come in and talk to Byleth. Byleth had greeted Dimitri on his birthday, but they hadn't seen each other since then. 

'What does it mean?' 

'I am the Beginning,' said Sothis, with a shrug. 'Everything is happening and has already happened.' 

'Thanks,' said Byleth. 

'You asked.' Sothis pointed at the door. 'The head of your house is here.' 

'I'm glad to see you outside your room,' said Claude. 

Byleth nodded at Claude but said nothing. 

'What are you reading, professor?' 

'Love letters,' said Byleth. 

'That belonged to Jeralt, didn't it?' Something lit up in Claude's already-bright eyes, sharp and full of wonder. 'Did he ever write about the time he left the monastery?'

Byleth didn't like where this conversation was going. 

'Would you let me borrow it?' 

Byleth swallowed his initial response, choked on it, and threw it back up, 'Do you think now is the time for that?' 

'Now, now,' said Sothis.

Claude laughed, still charming in the face of their mutual lapse of etiquette. 'I got ahead of myself, didn't I?' 

Claude's charm was considerable, but Byleth was used to it. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

'I tend to forget other people's emotions in my pursuit of knowledge. I'm sorry, professor.' Claude bowed. 'I wasn't thinking.'

'Very well.' Byleth sighed and slid the diary across the table towards Claude. 'This is the only thing I have left of Jeralt.' 

'Rest assured,' said Claude. He picked the diary up carefully. 'I'll be treating it like a holy relic.'

'Don't kill people with it,' said Byleth, laughing. 

'There you are.' Claude smiled. 'I missed hearing your laughter, professor.'

'You already have what you wanted.' Byleth snorted. 'No need for flattery. Now scoot.'

With another bow, Claude scooted.

*

Byleth came across Dimitri as the prince exited the training grounds, hair limp from sweat and his face flushed. 

'Good work,' said Byleth.

'And you too.' Dimitri smiled. 'Where are you headed?'

The day had a few more hours before the sun set; Byleth thought there was something almost sinful about going back to his room so he could stare at the ceiling and ponder. He could easily imagine Seteth writing a treatise about the weakness of spirit that led to such inactivity. 

'Professor?' 

'My room,' said Byleth.

'May I walk with you?' Dimitri fell into step next to Byleth without waiting for an answer. 

'It's not far.' Byleth's room was so close that their conversation, brief as it was, saw them already halfway to his destination.

'Even so, I'd appreciate the company.' 

'I find it hard to believe he doesn't have a string of girlfriends like that friend of his,' said Sothis. 

'That requires him to actually talk to girls,' said Byleth. Not that the prince kept to himself; he was courteous to a fault, and the fault was using politeness as a barrier against forming real connections with people. Byleth wasn't sure if Dimitri did this defensively, or if it stemmed from how the nobility treated commoners. 

'Here we are,' said Byleth, aloud. 

Walking next to someone was nice. With the prince making small talk about weapon upkeep next to Byleth, people didn't feel the need to accost him and ask how he was feeling. Strangers tried not to be too obvious about their curiosity, their whispered gossip about the dead Blade Breaker's son. 

Dimitri probably knew this. He'd gone through much of the same as a child, alone in the chaos of Faerghus after the murder of his whole family. 

'Thank you,' said Byleth. 

'I'd gladly accompany you if you feel like taking a walk around the monastery.' Dimitri moved, thought better of it, and let his hand drop back to his side. 'Seteth and the knights are looking for the culprit as we speak. If revenge is what you seek, professor, just say the word and you'll have my help.' 

Byleth watched Dimitri leave and wondered what he'd been about to do with his hand. 

*

v. Blue Lions, Guardian Moon

There was an axe tournament Byleth had promised Caspar he'd be allowed to enter. They needed Byleth's permission as Caspar's professor: the tournament was open to everyone who wanted to sign up and Caspar was a year shy of his majority. 

'You didn't have to come out here for this. I could have asked Professor Manuela,' said Caspar. He scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. 'But thanks, professor.'

'Of course.' Byleth was aware of the curious looks and the muffled speculations, but he tried to ignore them as he signed the necessary papers. 'Don't break legs out there.'

People stood in groups to watch the tournament and Byleth scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Before this month, he wouldn't have minded being alone, but certain kinds of people had become rather attached to him after Jeralt's death. Those who wanted to make sure Byleth wasn't forgetting to eat, or the ones who wanted to hear stories about the Blade Breaker, or--most annoyingly--complete strangers who claimed friendship with Jeralt and hungered for a taste of his tragic death like damned ghouls. 

The first two were easily avoided, but Byleth had a hard time dealing with the latter and wasn't above using the company of other people as a shield. 

Fortunately, he spotted Dimitri's blond head near the doorway. 

'It's good to see you here, professor.' There was barely a trace of Dimitri's cheerful good manners in the greeting, his voice pitched low and serious. 

'Thank you,' said Byleth. He knew Dimitri had been fielding audiences and meetings for his sake, taking charge so politely no one thought to question why the head of the Blue Lion house had any say at all on what his professor did outside of teaching in class. 

'More than anyone,' said Dimitri, 'I want you to rely on my strength. Just say the word, and I would kill anyone for you.'

This was a Dimitri that Byleth had seen only in glimpses: back in Remire when Dimitri had lost control, but also in brief moments when Dimitri found himself unable to lie about his future. He'd been the one to suggest reuniting for the Millennium Festival, but Byleth knew from the way Dimitri had tried to make excuses about not being able to attend that he fully expected to be dead in five years. 

Revenge was a harsh master. 

'Don't,' said Byleth. 

The madness in Dimitri's eyes was dampened by a veneer of control. His eyes widened as Byleth reached out to touch his cheek, facade slipping back on as he blushed. 

Don't, Byleth thought. 

Pleas and advice ran through his head: don't weave Jeralt's murder into the morass of politics and rage of your bloody past. Don't use me as a linchpin. Don't let me get used to leaning on you. 

'I need you alive,' said Byleth instead. 

Dimitri looked at Byleth. Too many words hung unsaid between them, questions and decisions neither of them was ready for, and Byleth took comfort in the uncertainty. Silence wasn't an outright refusal. 

The time would come when a choice had to be made, but for now he could press his thumb briefly against Dimitri's lips before letting his hand drop back to his side. 

Sothis laughed. 

*


	6. White Clouds: Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth loses his virginity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I pulled a chunk of their conversation from another fic I wrote. But hey at least it's Byleth's POV this time?

i. 

The darkness that fell like a blanket over Fòdlan at night was seldom absolute. Stars made even the moonless sky into rivers of colour and there were few places known to men where flaming torches or magical light couldn't breach. 

This was worse than any subterranean path that revealed its secrets only to strange and lightless creatures. This was a blackness that held nothing, a space that was never meant for living things. 

'You fool.' Sothis sounded flat, the place in between realities stealing the guttural anger from her voice. 'You realise you walked right into a trap?'

Byleth took a deep breath. He might not have a heartbeat, but he could feel the fear drumming in his chest, his skin crawling with revulsion as the darkness enveloped them. The air felt and smelled like they were standing in the midst of dark mages casting the same spell, their combined power drawing upon warmth and leaving only clamminess and profanity in its wake.

'I'm sorry.' 

'And what good are apologies?' Sothis was shouting now, the muffled anger finally giving way to the panic in her voice. 'This darkness is unnatural; it would take the power of a god to escape this place. Are you ready to die for revenge like that prince of yours?' 

Byleth shook his head. Back in Fòdlan, his students were no doubt facing Solon. If he didn't come back soon, Dimitri might--

He refused to finish the thought. He would find his way back to the forest, and then he wouldn't have to worry about what Dimitri might do. Not if he was around to stop it. 

'There's nothing else to be done,' said Sothis, with a sigh. 'You understand, don't you? Your father wrote about it in his diary. It seems the Archbishop has found a way to allow me to exist inside you.'

Sothis, also called The Beginning. Because of her, Byleth was able to turn back time and sometimes see possibilities chosen by his other selves. Different histories. Arguably different Byleths. 

'You can't,' he said. 

'I won't vanish,' said Sothis. Having decided on a plan of action, she seemed much calmer, her shoulders falling back as she regarded Byleth. 'I would simply become a part of you. I probably didn't act like much of a progenitor god,' she paused. 

'I won't allow it.' 

'And I won't be able to talk to you any more,' said Sothis, as if Byleth hadn't spoken. 'How I enjoyed lecturing and teasing you. But we must leave now. You're worried about your students, aren't you?'

He said nothing. 

'Of course I know.' She smiled and he felt his unbeating heart break. 'We are connected after all.' 

*

ii. Blue Lions, Pegasus Moon

He could hear the darkness scream as he tore through the emptiness with the Sword of the Creator. Solon stared in wonder and fear as Byleth stepped back into the forest; he was an unknown element to them, an unexpected variable that--judging from the circumstances of his birth--shouldn't have existed to begin with. 

He hated Solon, hated the old man's arrogance and the cold tendrils of dark magic that rolled off him as he tried to protect himself from Byleth. 

Not good enough. Byleth swung the Sword of the Creator, the goddess's bones glowing as they tore Solon's body apart. They would pay. Byleth reached out, fingers pressing against the soft bones of Solon's neck, and felt a pang of satisfaction in seeing the old man's eyes widen in fear. 

They would pay. 

In between the blood and Solon's cries of pain were strong hands that pulled Byleth back, a solid warmth that supported his weight as he stumbled. 

'Professor,' said Dimitri. 

Everything else was black. 

*

He woke up to singing. Someone was running their hand through his hair. He hid his face in her lap, her name at the tip of his tongue. 

'Everything will be all right,' said Lady Rhea. 'You're safe now.' 

Not her. Byleth sighed. 'Where am I?' 

'Sleep,' said Lady Rhea. 'You must regain your strength.' 

So he did.

*

Lady Rhea was gone when Byleth woke up again. He was in his room and someone had been kind enough to take off his boots before dumping him on the bed. He sat up, turning to the window by instinct--but Sothis wasn't there, sitting on air and moving her feet as if she was splashing unseen water from a non-existent stream. 

He couldn't hear her voice anymore. 

The rest of the week passed in a blur, but he'd managed to cover the lessons needed to keep his students on track if his calendar was to be believed. But the corresponding pages did bear his usual remarks on how each student was doing and where they needed to improve. He didn't remember holding classes, let alone writing notes down, but they were in his handwriting: sharp and clean as Jeralt had taught him. The memory of his father sharpening quills and patiently teaching Byleth his letters felt like a punch to the gut and he made to shut the notebook, hesitating when he saw the note about Dimitri looking pale and breaking more weapons than usual. 

'You shouldn't play favourites,' Sothis would have said. Byleth didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he tossed the notebook onto his desk instead and headed for the training grounds. 

Felix was the first to greet him, cold and irritated as usual, but his worry betrayed by a frown. 

'We might have gotten rid of Solon, but the Flame Emperor is still out there,' he said. 'You need to keep the boar in check. He's getting sloppy and this is not the time for it.' 

The others have noticed then. Byleth looked around. At the far side of the hall, Dedue seemed to be telling Dimitri off. A rare sight if Byleth ever saw one, and he gave Dedue a wave as he approached them. 

'Professor,' said Dedue, looking as if Byleth was the goddess come back to help Fòdlan. 'Maybe he'll listen to you. His Highness has been pushing himself too hard, don't you agree?' 

'It's just a headache from lack of sleep,' said Dimitri. 'But that won't stop me from helping out with this month's mission, I assure you.'

'You need to get some rest,' said Byleth, who felt a deep connection with the dark shadows around Dimitri's eyes.

Dimitri blinked slowly. Byleth had taken note of this habit before and had realised this was Dimitri's version of rolling his eyes. The prince should never look dismissive in front of his subjects, so he didn't. But Dimitri had settled for compromises that were just as telling once people got to know him better. 

'I refuse,' he said. 'I won't be able to sleep anyway.'

Byleth and Dedue looked at each other. Dimitri could be stubborn about his training, but he knew his limits and didn't like having people worry about him. 

'I don't want you making a mistake in the battlefield,' said Byleth. 

'I won't,' said Dimitri, frowning. 'I know what I'm doing.' 

Byleth waited for Sothis to say something cutting before he remembered she was gone. 

'Remember you're not alone,' she had said. 

Without saying another word to Dedue and Dimitri, Byleth left the training grounds. 

*

iii. Blue Lions, Pegasus Moon

'I think you've had enough.' 

Byleth squinted past the rim of his mug to meet Manuela's eyes. His vision took a while to focus and he tried to smile in the meantime. 'It's fine. Let me get you another drink.' 

'No,' said another voice. 'I'm not surprised you have the Captain's tolerance for alcohol, but that's quite enough.' 

Free from the expectations of his non-existent subjects, Byleth rolled his eyes. 'Have one on me, Alois.' 

'Shall I walk you back to your room?' said Alois. His grim countenance suggested he was ready to carry Byleth back if he needed to. 

'One more drink?' said Byleth, holding out two fingers. He thought he heard Manuela laugh. 

'Professor, please.' Alois leaned down and whispered close to Byleth's ear. 'We need to leave before Seteth hears word of this.' 

Byleth placed his mug back on the table with a sigh. The knights in the surrounding tables were free to drink and make fools of themselves as they pleased, but for some reason a professor was meant to be a paragon of virtue. Byleth wasn't the one who had made vows to serve the goddess. 'What about you?'

'Oh believe me,' said Manuela. 'I've had my fair share of sermons and warnings.' 

Byleth stood up. 'Thank you for your lovely company,' he said, as he left some coins on the till for their drinks. 

'Anytime.' Manuela gave him her usual wink. 'You're much more charming when you're drunk, professor.'

Byleth opened his mouth to reply, but Alois was herding him towards the door of the pub and he waved at her instead. 

Once outside, he cursed and rewound his scarf around his neck. Mistress Edith, the pub owner, was particular about the heating in her establishment; she got a lot of custom from the knights and minor nobles, and had a reputation to uphold. Byleth considered going back inside. Her excellent wine had warmed him up, but they were in the middle of Pegasus Moon which was arguably the coldest month in Fòdlan. 

'Professor,' said Alois. 

'I'm going.' Byleth headed back towards the monastery. The walk was a long one and he had no idea why he'd decided getting drunk was worth the cold trudge back to his room. 

'Will you be all right?' 

'Jeralt's tolerance for alcohol, remember?' said Byleth. 'Good night, Alois.' 

His teeth were chattering and he could barely feel his toes when he got back to Garreg Mach. Byleth kept within the buildings instead of taking a shortcut outside. He was sure the climate inside the monastery proper was controlled by magic; blankets of snow still covered the grounds, but the cold wasn't as biting and the winds less harsh. Still, he didn't see the point in suffering--even at a reduced rate--when the monastery had perfectly warm halls, most of which were connected to each other. 

Light spilled from the half-open doors of the training grounds. Byleth hesitated; his room was nearby, which meant blankets and warm feet. But he thought of the note he'd written to himself and what Felix had said earlier, and decided it wouldn't hurt to make a detour. 

He met Dimitri at the door.

'Please leave,' said Dimitri. 

He looked and sounded like how Byleth felt; exhaustion that ran deep to the bones, bolstered by thoughts that gnawed at sleep and peace of mind. Byleth paused. The night was cold and Dimitri didn't look like he'd be sleeping anytime soon. 

Byleth said, 'The goddess had been with me since I was born,'

Dimitri tilted his head to one side, wearing an expression Byleth had seen in class many times before: confused but trying to process information. 

'I told you,' said Byleth. 'She lent me her power so I could come back.' 

'Professor--'

'Now she's gone.' Byleth stepped closer. A flash of triumph flared in his gut when Dimitri didn't move away, un-startled and receptive as Byleth pulled at his collar, made him lean down as if for a kiss. 'My father. And now her. I can't hear her voice anymore. All gone.' 

Dimitri's breath was a warm non-caress against the sensitive skin of Byleth's upper lip. 'I'm so sor--'

'Soon you'll be gone too.' Byleth liked to think this meant Dimitri moving on with his life as students did after graduating. He was, after all, going to be crowned as the king of Faerghus; he'd be too busy with politics and festivals and begetting an heir to remember a brief school crush. But more likely he would go where Jeralt was; permanently unreachable. The thought was enough to make Byleth say, 'Do you want to make a mistake with me?' 

Both of them had been carefully avoiding this, flirting with the idea of flirting but never committing. Byleth had felt obligated not to take Dimitri's insinuations seriously, and while a part of him liked to pretend this was more than a passing fancy, he couldn't say he'd given much thought to its natural conclusion. 

Rather, he couldn't allow himself to think about it.

Dimitri took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes. He stayed like that for a while, and Byleth amused himself by staring at Dimitri's face, close enough that Byleth could see the hint of facial hair shadowing his jawline. From far away and viewed impersonally, Dimitri was beautiful in the way princes were beautiful in books: visually pleasing and lacking any kind of personality that would irritate a delicate palate. A closer look would reveal his imperfections: his scars and the dry patches on his skin, the shadows around his eyes and the madness in them. 

Byleth tried to live his life without wanting things. He liked routines and the simple comforts of a warm meal and a bed to sleep in. As a commoner, to long for anything more was to set himself up for disappointment. Yet here he was. 

He wanted the future king of Faerghus. 

'Yes,' said Dimitri. He'd opened his eyes and was looking at Byleth like he would have fucked Byleth against the wall if not for the cold. And the fact they were in monastery grounds, possibly in full view of the four saints and Seiros herself. 

Sothis might be gone, but Byleth could still hear the echoes of her laughter. 

*

They made it to Byleth's room without falling down the stairs or scandalising the goddess--not that Sothis would have been scandalised. Judging from her stories, she'd been no stranger to dalliances, unlike Byleth, who had no idea what he was supposed to do. He wondered if she would have guided him, but he wouldn't have dragged Dimitri into his room had Sothis still been around to tease and question his bad decisions. 

'I'm,' said Byleth, as Dimitri pressed him against the door. 'I don't have experience.' 

'I thought you knew everything,' said Dimitri. He turned away from Byleth's pointed look. 'I might have received some advice from Sylvain.' 

'Did you tell him about--'

'Cichol, no.' Dimitri's rush of breath might have been a laugh. 'He might have guessed. I haven't been particularly subtle, have I?' 

Byleth shrugged. He was pressed against Dimitri and could feel the warm hardness of Dimitri's desire against his thigh; nothing felt particularly subtle at the moment. He rocked forward so he could rub against Dimitri's body and was rewarded by Dimitri's soft gasp. 

He'd forgotten what he'd wanted to say. 

'You used to be scared of me,' said Byleth instead, with a smile to take the sting out of his words. 

'Was I?' Dimitri's answer was perfunctory; Byleth doubted he was paying attention to anything but the movement of their bodies. 

'But you still wanted me in your bed, didn't you?' 

Dimitri was surprised into laughing, although his face had turned red. 'Want,' he corrected Byleth. 'And yes.'

Byleth took a deep breath. Now they were both inside, the layers of his clothes seemed redundant and heavy, the wool of his coat scratchy against his too-warm skin. He reached out to untie his scarf, catching Dimitri's grin as Dimitri leaned down to kiss him. 

Dimitri's lips were dry and chapped from the cold and Byleth felt the roughness against his own chapped lips. It became less of a problem the more they kissed, as Byleth got used to the feeling and spit started getting involved. Dimitri kissed like how he did almost everything else: focused and intent and with just a bit more force than needed. 

Byleth didn't hate it. He was used to planning around overwhelming strength in the battlefield, devising plans on how to win against superior forces, but the idea of succumbing to brute force in bed was appealing. At some point, Byleth might try doing other things with Dimitri, but for now, he wanted to lie back and not think of anything except how good kissing felt. Even if they were both a bit messy and Dimitri needed to be more careful with his teeth. 

Proving himself capable of multitasking--an aptitude Byleth wished Dimitri would show in class--Dimitri started undressing Byleth as they kissed. Byleth's coat was easily discarded onto the floor, but the shirt was giving Dimitri trouble. He gave Byleth a sideways look at the sound of cloth tearing, making Byleth think of a dog that had been caught stealing food. He laughed and pulled Dimitri back in for more kisses. Neither of them was any great shakes at sewing, but they could ask Mercedes for help and she wasn't likely to ask too many questions. 

They stumbled into bed, Dimitri half-carrying Byleth, who was too busy undoing the hundreds of Seiros-damned buttons on the prince's shirt. Trust the nobility to get over-excited with ivory and make things harder for everyone else. 

Dimitri was pale under his expensive clothes, his chest hair sparse and almost transparent. Byleth pinched a pink nipple and Dimitri bit at his earlobe in retaliation. 

Noblemen generally didn't bother meeting the mercenaries in their pay, but Jeralt was famous enough that Byleth had seen his share of rich lords who smelled of musk and roses. They possessed a porcelain perfection Byleth expected from the upper crust, the kind he also expected from Dimitri, the blond prince from storybooks. But Faerghus had always been tough on her people, commoners and nobility alike, and Dimitri was no stranger to hard work. His body was scarred and callused, hardened by training and physical labour. 

Byleth held Dimitri's hands up, bringing them close enough to kiss. Which he did, marvelling at the texture of the burn scars on the back of Dimitri's hands against his lips. 

'Do you like playing with fire, Your Highness?' he said, ready to apologise and grovel in case he offended. He had an idea where Dimitri had gotten those scars, but he wasn't going to ask. 

Dimitri's breath hitched as Byleth's tongue ran down to his wrist. 'Something like that.' He sighed against Byleth's neck as Byleth unbuttoned his trousers. 

Byleth freed Dimitri's cock from his linens, Byleth's fingers catching the stickiness from the tip, and he gave it a gentle squeeze before running his hand across its length. 

'Professor.' Dimitri's hips moved, his breath coming out in shaky gasps as he thrust into Byleth's hand. 

Byleth hadn't expected his appointment to Officers Academy would lead him into getting called 'professor' while stroking cock, but he wasn't going to complain. Dimitri was big--Byleth has had Dimitri's cock pressed against him since they got inside the room, he knew Dimitri was larger than he was and much thicker. The girth of a lady's wrist as Byleth reckoned, curling his fingers around Dimitri's cock. He wondered what Dimitri would taste like, how the smooth skin of Dimitri's cock would feel against his tongue. 

Dimitri had been biting and licking Byleth's ear, but he stopped when Byleth started rubbing himself against Dimitri's thighs. 

'Dimitri--' 

Dimitri hummed in reply and Byleth heard more sounds of cloth tearing as Dimitri pulled his trousers off. Those trousers had been sewn for Byleth by a proper tailor and even with Sylvain's connection giving him a good deal, they'd cost as much as a good sword. But they were sturdy and would have lasted Byleth a couple years, which was how he had justified the expense. Unfortunately, the tailors in Fòdlan weren't prepared for impatient princes tearing clothes off hard-working commoners.

But Dimitri had freed Byleth's cock from his underwear and oh, he was rubbing both of their cocks together and Dimitri was warm and so hard and Byleth forgot about the price of sleeping above his station as his brain finally caught up with what he was doing. Dimitri was lying on top of him on the bed. Mostly undressed, hair tousled by Byleth's demanding hands, his mouth kiss-bruised and his hand wrapped around both of their cocks: _Dimitri_ was lying on top of him on the bed. Byleth had invited him there and Seteth was going to have a conniption if he found out. 

'Dimitri.' Byleth rocked his hips against Dimitri, seeking friction and begging. 'Fuck me.'

Dimitri's eyes had darkened and he seemed almost entranced as he moved, his hand pressing his cock against Byleth's, breath warm against Byleth's ear. 'Professor.' 

*

Exhausted and dreamless, they held each other as they slept. 

*


	7. White Clouds: War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth falls in the Battle of Garreg Mach.

i. Blue Lions, Pegasus Moon

Dimitri had come undone. 

His laughter echoed across the hallowed ceiling of the underground tomb, the sound carrying enough despair and hurt and madness that Byleth reached out instinctively, more for reassurance than to stop Dimitri from moving forward. Dimitri brushed him off before rushing at the Flame Emperor's men. 

From the dais where she stood, Edelgard watched Dimitri approach. She didn't move even as he tore through her guard detail, her impassive face betraying emotion only when Dimitri's spear hit the visor of her helmet. 

'Dimitri.' Byleth hurried after Dimitri, wincing as he saw Dimitri crush a guard's skull in one hand. That hand had cradled the back of Byleth's head the night before, Dimitri holding him close as they kissed. Bearing the Crest of Blaiddyd might be a boon in defending the Kingdom, but it also meant Dimitri had a hard time with delicate work. Even in bed, he was oftentimes rough and forceful--Byleth liked being pampered, but it was getting harder to deny his damnable attraction to the part of Dimitri that was predisposed to violence. 

He could have lived his life without knowing this, but Dimitri was attentive and very easy to look at: Byleth was hardly suffering. 

But that wouldn't last long if he allowed Dimitri to get hurt. Byleth cursed as a guard got perilously close to stabbing Dimitri in the gut. Dimitri dodged and punched the man in return. Even from afar, Byleth could hear the soft crunch of the man's nose getting closely acquainted with Dimitri's gauntleted fist. 

Dimitri could probably finish all the guards off by himself, but the Flame Emperor hadn't made her move yet. Byleth didn't want to take his chances with Edelgard: she could hurt Dimitri deeply and both of them were aware of it. 

A fallen guard grabbed Byleth's ankle as he ran to join Dimitri. Byleth stumbled and almost fell, his free ankle protesting as he fought to stay upright. He sliced the man's throat open for his efforts and approached Dimitri at a more careful pace. He was a few yards away when Hubert arrived in a pillar of light to stand behind Edelgard. 

'We must go, Lady Edelgard,' said Hubert.

Edelgard turned to Byleth. 'I did wish you'd understand my choices,' she said, shaking her head. 'But I realise it's not meant to be.' 

They vanished. 

'Professor!' Ingrid and Dedue hurried across the wide, cavernous space to stand by Byleth and their prince. The rest of the class had split up to apprehend the bandits that had raided the Holy Tomb, making sure none of them managed to run off with the Crest stones they'd stolen from the crypts. Byleth had no idea why anyone would want to steal the remains of dead people, but he was glad enough to obey Lady Rhea's command to stop the bastards. The tomb was kept secret for a reason and, whatever the identity of the people buried there, the desecration of anyone's grave could never mean anything good. 

'I can't believe Hresvelg's the Flame Emperor,' said Caspar, his voice almost drowned out by the sound of his wyvern's wings. 

Dimitri raised his head to glare at Caspar. Had he been standing on the ground, Caspar might have taken a step backwards. He wasn't, so he clutched Mook's reigns more tightly instead. 

'This has nothing to do with me,' said Caspar. 

'Your Highness,' said Ashe, his voice breaking. 'This is Caspar we're talking about.' 

'I agree,' said Sylvain, when Dimitri stayed silent. 'It's just Bergliez. He's been fighting by our side for months now; you know him. Underhanded dealings aren't his style.' 

'But it is Vestra's,' Ingrid pointed out. 'Bergliez could be acting under his command.' 

'I recruited him,' said Byleth, looking at Dimitri. 'And I vouch for him.' 

Dimitri transferred his glare to Byleth. Both of them knew it wouldn't work; Byleth was used to arguing with Dimitri and he didn't get intimidated easily, not even if the other party was the Crown Prince of a whole Kingdom. Dimitri finally sighed and said, 'Pray you won't regret that.' 

'I seldom regret my choices,' said Byleth. 

That earned him a quick laugh, although Dimitri's frown told Byleth that Dimitri had tried not to. 

'Good to know,' he said, moving past Byleth and heading for the entrance. Lady Rhea and Seteth stood there, away from the fray and within reach of the platform that led out of the Holy Tomb.

Byleth followed close, trying to avoid Sylvain's questioning look. The guy was sharp--he had to be, to survive as the Gautier heir--and had likely picked up the flirtatious note in Byleth's voice. Sylvain already had suspicions about Dimitri's little crush, there was no need to add fuel to that fire. 

Byleth had no intention of causing a scandal in two territories. 

Caspar had dismounted from Mook, moving close to Byleth and providing a solid cover from Sylvain's efforts to catch Byleth's eye. 

'I swear in Cichol's name, professor,' said Caspar, sounding more serious than Byleth expected him to be. 'I don't know anything about Hresvelg's plans. I'm here because I want to learn more from you.' 

'I believe you,' said Byleth. He smiled at Caspar's obvious relief. 'Secrets are harder to keep the more people know of them.'

'To be fair,' said Ashe, 'Caspar would be the last person you'd think of when you need someone to go undercover.'

'True,' said Annette. 'He'd be shouting his intentions before engaging.'

Caspar laughed at this accurate--if not very kind--assessment of his character. 'I thought you guys were my friends,' he said, punching Ashe in the arm. 

The younger students started squabbling, insults and laughter dispelling the tension that had settled upon the class once they'd found out about the Flame Emperor's identity. None of them had been particularly close to Edelgard--with the exception of Dimitri--but she was still their schoolmate. Linking the Flame Emperor's actions to someone they knew and had shared meals with wasn't going to be easy. 

Byleth noted the tense set of Dimitri's shoulders. Edelgard was his step-sister and they'd known each other as kids. The way Dimitri dodged Byleth's teasing and implications, his face sometimes turning pink as he carefully avoided the words 'first love', was enough proof that a part of him still felt fondness for the girl. 

Byleth sighed. There were times when he felt the need to talk to Sothis and Jeralt like a punch to the gut. He knew this was something time would help heal, but aphorisms were of little help when what he needed were a different perspective and some advice. Sothis and Jeralt understood the complexities of emotions, they'd known despair and infatuation. They must have known what it meant to be betrayed by someone they loved. 

Without their insight, Byleth had to make do with watching Dimitri's back like the overprotective Seteth, hoping the potent mix of love and revenge wouldn't get the prince killed. 

*

ii. Black Eagles, Pegasus Moon

Byleth moved when Lady Rhea did, stepping between the Archbishop and Edelgard before either woman could draw a weapon. 

'You disappoint me, Edelgard,' said Lady Rhea. Something in her voice reminded Byleth of Jeralt, and he listened intently as he tried to figure out why. 'I would never have thought a descendant from the line of Hresvelg would betray the Church like this.' 

She was angry and hurt, but that wasn't surprising: Edelgard's men had raided the tombs of Lady Rhea's kin, after all. But her voice--Byleth realised that was how Jeralt sounded whenever Byleth did something dangerously daft. Jeralt hadn't expected perfection from Byleth, that was never the point of his sermons, but he'd made sure Byleth knew his poorly considered actions put the lives of his fellow mercenaries at risk. 

There was something almost personal in Lady Rhea's disappointment, and Byleth turned to Edelgard to see if she'd heard it. 

Edelgard was looking at Lady Rhea, but there was only the suggestion of dislike in her face. 'The Church has betrayed its people first.' 

'Kill her,' said Lady Rhea. 'We can't let this blatant disregard for the Church and the desecration of the holy tomb go unpunished.' 

Byleth closed his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to agree with Edelgard, not even after taking Jeralt's distrust of the Archbishop into account. The Church had, for the most part, only as much influence as the nobility allowed. To declare one as corrupt while courting the support of the other was disingenuous at best. And yet. 

In his mind, he could still hear Edelgard crying out in her sleep. Hear the careful way she spoke of her past, her voice betraying nothing of what she truly felt. Byleth opened his eyes again, taking note of the tightness around her lips, her eyes bright and slightly red. 

He moved to face Lady Rhea, standing in front of Edelgard. 

'Professor?' Edelgard sounded surprised but gratified. 'Are you sure--no, now is not the time for that. You have my gratitude, nonetheless.'

'You.' Lady Rhea had been hiding her hurt before, revealing only enough to inspire sympathy from Byleth and his students. But now she let the mask fall entirely, her emotions raw and perhaps unbecoming of a lady of her rank. 'I see you're just another failure. Unfortunate that you revealed your traitorous face here--how you shame your brethren.'

Byleth hesitated. He had no idea what the Archbishop was talking about, but he wondered if it had to do with the circumstances surrounding his birth. 

'We must leave,' said Hubert. He hadn't been around when the Black Eagles entered the Holy Tomb, but he must have caught up without Byleth noticing. 

'I should just tear the heart from your body,' said the Archbishop. Her voice had changed, sounding lower and more guttural. Byleth took a step back as the Archbishop's body twisted and glowed. He threw one hand to cover his face as light flooded the area. From between his fingers, Byleth saw the shadow of the Archbishop's body grow into an immense dragon. 

'That must be the Immaculate One,' said Edelgard, grabbing Byleth's arm. 'The true form that has subjugated Fòdlan for so long. We're not ready for this.' 

The Immaculate One was beautiful in a monstrous kind of way; her scales translucent and pearly, her skin gleaming like moonlight. She looked like a carving of a dragon, yet her body moved smoothly, her muscles rippling as she moved towards Byleth. He stared up at her in horrified fascination until Edelgard pulled him away. 

'We must fall back,' she said. 'Hurry!' 

*

Safe in the bowels of Abyss, the very edge of it where the underground city rose and embraced the forests outside Garreg Mach, Byleth leaned against a damp wall and tried to catch his breath. 

'Did I do the right thing?' said Bernadetta. She was barely standing and had to be supported by Dorothea, but she seemed to be unhurt. 'The professor and Edelgard are here, but what just happened?' 

'I followed the professor without thinking,' Caspar admitted. 

'Acting before you think will lead to mistakes, Caspar,' said Petra. 

'Professor,' said Edelgard, moving so she was shielding Byleth from the rest of the Black Eagles. 'I had hoped you'd join my cause, but I never thought it would actually come to pass.' She stepped closer so only Byleth would hear, 'Is this all right? Your lover--'

Byleth didn't usually have to keep the emotions from showing in his face, but this time he was surprised and didn't want Edelgard to know. 'You know about that?' 

'I apologise.' She bowed. 'But Hubert kept you under surveillance, just in case.' 

'It's fine,' said Byleth. 'It was never serious between us.' 

She gave him a look but didn't argue. 'Come, we need to reassure the others.' 

He stood by her side, Edelgard's left while Hubert stood at her right, and listened as the Black Eagles pledged their support for Edelgard's cause. They were ready to change Fòdlan, to free the less fortunate from the claws of the Church and the unjust system. Whatever that meant. 

Only after the meeting adjourned and Hubert led Byleth to a tent that was to be his accommodation for the night, after Byleth had made sure no one was going to barge in for more pep talk, only then did he allow himself to think of Dimitri. 

He sat down, pretending his legs hadn't given way at the thought of having to face an impossible dragon and his own fucking lover in battle. 

Byleth seldom regretted his choices. He didn't think he was wrong, not after seeing Edelgard's unguarded joy at having him stand with her against the Archbishop. But right now he allowed himself a moment of fear. And a moment of sadness for what could have been. 

*

iii. Blue Lions, Lone Moon

'Please wait,' said Dimitri. 'I'm going to cut that woman's head off her neck, I swear to you.'

Byleth didn't think Dimitri even knew who was standing before him. He spoke to phantoms only he could see, addressing demands no one had asked of him. At least, Byleth corrected himself, no one alive. 

'You need to eat,' said Byleth. 

Dimitri closed his eyes. The effort to rebuild his crumbling facade of cheerfulness took longer than usual. Felix was right: the prince was getting sloppy, but Byleth allowed Dimitri some allowance. After all, there was no need to impress someone who'd already jumped into his bed.

'I'm not hungry,' said Dimitri, softly. 

Byleth looked around the cathedral, making sure everyone was busy with their prayers and meditation, and reached out to tuck Dimitri's hair behind his ear. 'Would you keep me company, then?' 

Dimitri looked like he was about to refuse, so Byleth glared and made huffy sounds until Dimitri shrugged. 'All right.' 

Byleth hurried to the buffet table as soon as they arrived at the dining hall, piling servings of Saghert cream and sweet buns on a plate. 

'I can't possibly eat all that,' said Dimitri.

'You need to keep your strength up.' Byleth placed a couple meat skewers in his own plate. 'The Adrestian forces will arrive in a fortnight. We should get ready.' 

'I've been preparing for years,' said Dimitri, his voice dropping to a growl again. 'I've been waiting for this.' 

'Good,' said Byleth, placing the plates on the table with a decisive thump. 'Then eat.' 

*

Most of the Academy students chose to stay and protect Garreg Mach. Byleth wasn't surprised, not even when the nobles told their respective professors they would stay as well. It served the nobility's interest to halt Adrestia's progress in the Oghma Mountains: the Kingdom had been weakened by years of regency and rebellion, while Alliance leaders squabbled and sought their own advantage. The Church was easily the biggest obstacle between the Empire and its conquest of the continent of Fòdlan. If Garreg Mach fell, those who opposed Adrestia would have a harder time rallying together. 

Byleth watched his students march into the great hall to join the Knights of Seiros. He'd seen them grow and improve in the year they'd spent at the Academy; he was proud of them and he knew they would hold their own in this battle. Still, the Emperor's proclamation marked the beginning of a new era in Fòdlan, one that would claim thousands of lives, and there was no way to make sure Byleth's students wouldn't count among the fallen. 

'What a fucking waste,' he said. He'd never talked to himself before, but without Sothis to converse with, he found saying his thoughts out loud served as a paltry substitute. 

'You're not wrong,' said Manuela. 

Byleth tried to hide his surprise; he hadn't noticed her standing so close. 'You're from the Empire, weren't you, professor?'

'I left Adrestia years ago.' She shrugged. 'My priority is to make sure the students stay safe.'

Byleth bowed. 'We'll be counting on you.' 

'Such pretty manners,' said Manuela, hiding a smile behind one hand. 'You were less obliging when you first arrived. Is the prince rubbing off on you?' 

'Perhaps.' Byleth knew he was becoming more expressive; Jeralt had mentioned it back in Remire. Not that he was ever going to be as lively as Sylvain or Caspar, but people seemed to find him less unnerving. He wondered if Sothis had anything to do with it. 

'Our enemies outnumber us, but we have the goddess on our side.' Alois stood in front of the massive doors of the great hall to address the knights and soldiers. 'We must not allow the enemy to take Garreg Mach, you understand?' 

'May the blessings of the goddess be with you,' said Lady Rhea. 

'Forward!' 

At Alois's signal, the troops marched through the door in orderly queues. Byleth went to join the Blue Lions. 

'We can't let the Empire take the monastery,' said Ingrid. 'Or Faerghus won't be far behind.' 

'I'm scared,' said Annette. She'd always been frank about her emotions, making her braver than most people Byleth knew. 'But even if it feels hopeless, we still have to make a stand against Adrestia.' 

'Fall back if you need to,' said Byleth, giving her a pat on the shoulder. 'Remember we are here to support you.' 

'Indeed. We're here to watch each other's backs,' said Dedue. 'Your Highness? You look troubled.' 

'Troubled?' Dimitri laughed. 'Quite the opposite.' 

'Don't act rashly,' said Byleth. He didn't like repeating himself, but there was a gleam in Dimitri's eyes that made him think of the old man in the Abyss tavern who preached about the dragons that will destroy Fòdlan. 'We're in this together.' 

'Of course,' said Dimitri. 'But I'll be the one to sever that woman's head, even if it kills me.'

Byleth met Dedue's concerned glare. _Never leave his side_ , Byleth signed. 

'If it isn't the Blue Lions.' Catherine waved at them from her station next to Lady Rhea. She said something to one of the knights before moving closer to Byleth and his class, her partner in tow. 'Are you ready?' 

'Almost,' said Byleth. 

'Bad business all around,' said Catherine, shaking her head. 'Our chances aren't looking too good.'

'The local lords have sent some of their own men to help us out,' said Shamir. She usually kept her mouth shut, especially when Catherine was around to do the talking for her, but she was clearly annoyed and needed to complain. 'But as Alois said, we're still vastly outnumbered. The Adrestian army has Edelgard at its head too.' She sighed. 

'Frankly, I'm surprised you're still here,' said Catherine, cutting off Dimitri's contemptuous huff of breath. 'Most mercenaries won't touch this situation with a ten-foot pole.' 

She looked at Byleth sideways and he shrugged. She wasn't wrong; without knowing the political significance of Garreg Mach, he'd be unwilling to risk his men's lives over a war they weren't likely to win. Remembering Annette's confession earlier, Byleth thought he might refuse even if he knew what was at stake. 

'Call it a mistake,' said Shamir. 'I still owe Lady Rhea.' She paused. 'And the death of some friends would make me unhappy.' 

'Didn't know you had any,' said Catherine, with a laugh. 'Come on, the Archbishop is heading out.' 

'That was interesting,' said Sylvain, watching the two walk back to Lady Rhea's side. 'I'm not sure whom to feel bad for.' 

'Move forward,' said Byleth. 'Stay focused and try not to die.' Most of the Blue Lions laughed except Dimitri, who only blinked at Byleth. 

He grabbed Dimitri's arm as everyone marched to rejoin the knights. 

'I'm serious,' said Byleth. 'Don't lose control out there.' 

'I'm always in control,' said Dimitri. He ignored the challenge in Byleth's raised eyebrow. 'My father,' he took a deep breath, 'my mother, and all my friends demand that woman's death. Come, professor. It's time.' 

*

Byleth wasn't sure if the warm wetness that trickled down his face was sweat or blood--or perhaps a combination of both. His left eye had swollen almost shut from where he'd been hit with the handle of someone's spear; his vision was already not at its best and he couldn't afford to get blood all over his other eye. He wiped his face with his sleeve. The movement took no more than a second but someone must have been watching and waiting for him to slip up, because he'd barely opened his good eye again before he felt the blunt, bone-crushing force of someone trying to hack his arm off with an axe. 

He screamed as he fell down, the pain immediate and impossible to ignore. His armour had absorbed most of the blow, metal folding against the impact, and everything hurt too much for Byleth to know how deeply he'd been cut but he was sure he'd broken a bone. 

People were shouting his name, their voices muffled as if he was hearing them from a distance. Another scream--not human, Byleth thought, as he heard the frantic flapping of a creature's wings, felt the rush of air as someone picked him off the ground. 

'Back off.' The voice was hoarse but still recognisable as Caspar's. Byleth heard the clang of metal and a woman yelling, 'Fall back, commander!' 

'Professor,' said Dedue. 'Can you stand?' 

Byleth nodded. 'Thank you.' 

Dedue didn't let go even after Byleth got his feet back on the ground, keeping his arm around Byleth's shoulders until Byleth felt well enough to step away. There was always something comforting about Dedue's calm presence--Byleth looked up. 'Dimitri?'

'Ingrid and Felix are with him,' said Dedue. 

'I'll take the professor to Mercedes,' said Caspar. 'You go back to Blaiddyd.' 

Byleth leaned against Mook after Dedue had left. His students had moved him to a deserted area near the monastery walls; the rank smell and the racks of stretched hide told Byleth they were in Tanner's Row. Few people cared to venture near and those that did met their end from Ashe's arrows. Byleth couldn't see him, but the angle of the arrows suggested Ashe was hiding in the rooftops. 

'I can't ride in this condition,' said Byleth, through gritted teeth. 

Caspar looked up, probably at Ashe, and they must have conferred with each other wordlessly because Byleth heard Ashe say, 'I saw Professor Manuela going around the battlefield with some of the healers.'

'I'll look for her,' said Caspar. 'You'll stay with the professor?' 

'Thank you,' said Byleth. He moved away from Mook so Caspar could fly off, leaning against the side of a tanner's wooden shed and closing his eyes. 

'He'll be fine, professor,' said Ashe. Byleth heard the swoosh of Ashe's arrow and a distant cry of pain. 

'Caspar's a hardy kid,' said Byleth. 

Ashe laughed. 'I meant the prince. Dedue's back at his side; they'll be fine until we get you patched up.' 

Byleth sighed. He must have lost consciousness after all, because the next thing he knew, he was screaming again as a searing pain ran across his arm, like someone had pushed a hot metal rod through his flesh.

'Steady now, professor,' said Manuela. Her hands were cold, but Byleth felt like his whole arm was on fire: anything that wasn't his arm felt cold. 'I've set your bones and spelled your arm to dull the pain a bit, but there's only so much magic can do.' 

Byleth sat up. 'But I can fight?' 

'I doubt you'd let me stop you.' Manuela reached out to touch Byleth's swollen eye. He felt another searing pain. 

He blinked. 'You're a saint.' 

She laughed, giving his arm a light slap. 'Go straight to the infirmary when this is over, all right?'

Byleth grabbed the Sword of the Creator and stood up. No one mentioned how he had to rest the tip of the blade against the ground and use the sword to steady himself, although Byleth could see Ashe was trying very hard not to say something. 'I'll see you then, professor.' 

He needed to get to Dimitri. 

*

The shrubs and small trees that hedged the village square were on fire. Byleth coughed, his eyes watering as he squinted through the smoke and the roaring flames. At the edge of the crowd gathered in the square, Dedue stood near the remains of an incendiary barrel that had obviously started the fire. Byleth thought he saw flashes of blond hair as well, but there were too many people for him to be sure. 

'Seiros,' he said. 'Don't let me be too late.'

He had to kill two men and injure one more before he reached Dimitri. The prince was looking scruffy--his eye was blackened and blood was running down his nose--but he seemed fine apart from his nose being a bit crooked. 

He should get that set properly, thought Byleth. Not that Dimitri's looks would suffer from minor imperfections. 

'Professor,' said Dedue. 'You shouldn't be back here.' 

Dimitri gave Byleth a questioning look, which Byleth ignored.

'What happe--' said Dimitri. 

He was cut off by Felix cursing, a steady stream of profanity that served as a counterpoint to the screams that greeted the arrival of more Adrestian soldiers. The men possessed several flimsy carts packed with more incendiary barrels, which they let loose on people and buildings alike. 

'Those bootlicking sons of Cethleann's whores,' said Felix, sounding almost bored as he lept for cover. Arrows began to fly from behind trees and crumbling walls as Felix began moving across the village square. 

Byleth adopted Felix's tactic; Manuela's healing magic kept him conscious and upright, but only just. He wasn't in any shape to face fresh soldiers who'd been doing nothing the last few hours but sit and wait for orders. So he picked them off from a distance, downing the armoured soldiers with magical fireballs and dodging counterattacks. 

As the Adrestian forces thinned, Byleth got a good look at the Emperor standing in their midst. She seemed to be outfitted like the Death Knight but, as her armour caught the light from the burning houses, Byleth realised she wore the deep red colour of the Empire instead of black. 

She looked up and met his eyes. Edelgard smiled and said, in the same tone Byleth imagined she'd used to declare war, 'I wish I didn't have to fight you.' 

She moved even before she finished speaking, her long-handled axe held ready to cut him in half. Byleth considered his options; he wouldn't have time to cast more than one spell if he stood his ground, but her guards would block off all escape routes even if he decided to run. Maybe he should have listened to Dedue.

Edelgard dodged Byleth's fireball and brought her axe down. Sparks flew from where the sharp edge met the handle of Dimitri's lance.

'You,' said Dimitri, moving to stand in front of Byleth. 'You're late. I've been waiting. _We_ have all been waiting.'

Adrestian soldiers were running to their Emperor's aid and Byleth cast Thunder in their direction. His mind raced through possibilities and courses of action, wondering if he could factor in Dimitri's cooperation or not. 

'I'm going to cut that evil head off your neck,' said Dimitri, charging forward.

'You've never been one for patience.' Edelgard managed to avoid Dimitri's first thrust but wasn't fast enough when he used the momentum to slam the shaft of his lance against her side. She grunted as the force lifted her off the ground and into the arms of one of her soldiers. 

'Your Majesty.' One of the Adrestian commanders started barking orders, but Edelgard held her hand up. 

'It doesn't matter. The reinforcements are here,' she said. 'We will trust my uncle to finish what we have started.' 

Byleth ran, grabbing the back of Dimitri's collar before the prince could follow Edelgard.

'Let's go,' said Byleth. His vision swam for one terrible moment, but he gritted his teeth and willed his body to cooperate. 'Dedue, to me!'

'I need to finish this,' said Dimitri, trying to pull away from Byleth's grip. 

'We can't.' Fear made Byleth's voice sharper than he intended and Dimitri must have noticed because he quit struggling. 'Look at those soldiers heading this way.' 

Unlike the sturdy but plain castles of Faerghus, Garreg Mach had never been built as a fortress: its location made up for what it lacked in architectural defence. No matter what side of the compass enemies chose to attack from, all land-bound assaults could be spotted from the top of the mountains before they could even get close to the monastery walls. From the ruins of the gates, Byleth could see hundreds of soldiers marching under the banner of the Empire. 

'We need to evacuate,' said Dedue. 

'Ingrid,' said Byleth, waving Ingrid over. 'Tell everyone to meet up at the entrance hall.' A wave of pain crashed over him and left a throbbing ache behind; Manuela's spell was either wearing off or he'd overstretched its efficacy. 

'Professor?' said Dimitri.

'Indech's saggy tits,' said Byleth, before collapsing into Dimitri's arms. 

*

iv. Black Eagles, Lone Moon

Byleth and Ferdinand served as Edelgard's vanguards, cutting through the ranks of the Knights of Seiros in preparation for her progress. They had faced no students from the Academy so far and Byleth hoped they wouldn't have to. He knew Ferdinand felt the same, although the young lord would never admit to his personal feelings unless he'd found a way to put a political spin on them. 

'We should try not to alienate the nobility,' said Byleth. 'Since we need to make alliances later.' 

Ferdinand gave Byleth a look, suspicious of his intentions but unable to deny the wisdom of Byleth's words. 'Indeed.' 

Byleth hid a smile. Ferdinand was too earnest for the Emperor's stratagems, but that was the strength he lent to the Strike Force. 

'Look out,' Edelgard called out. 'There's a guard detail ahead.' 

'As we expected.' Byleth could pick out Seteth on his wyvern from the ranks of soldiers standing in front of the monastery gates. 'Try to let us handle it this time?' 

Edelgard laughed, accepting his reprimand with a shallow bow. 'But how else will I prove my worth, professor?' 

'The outcome of this battle is central to our plans, Your Majesty,' said Hubert. 'It would not do for you to get hurt here.' 

'What sort of Emperor am I,' said Edelgard, 'if I can't even protect my allies?' 

'An Emperor with strong allies,' said Byleth. 'We are expendable, Edelgard. You are not.' 

Edelgard said nothing, but she did as Byleth asked and stayed behind the protective ranks of the Adrestian forces, rallying her men without joining the fray. 

Considering they lost a third of their number to gain victory over Seteth and his troops, Byleth had to applaud her self-control. After Seteth's retreat, Ferdinand was free to arrange for the opening of the monastery gates while Byleth went back to stand beside Edelgard. 

'You see, I'm capable of following orders,' she said. 

He laughed. 

*

The ground shook from the Immaculate One's roar of anger and Byleth scrambled for safety. He was glad Edelgard hadn't charged ahead with him when they reached the cathedral; the rebellion couldn't fail because the Emperor got killed under a pile of debris. 

'You will not be forgiven,' the Immaculate One said. Byleth could feel the air around them get warmer, the sounds of the battle fading as the dragon took a deep breath. 

Dragons breathed fire only in folklore; living beings just weren't made for combustible breath, but the Immaculate One wasn't aiming to burn Byleth to a crisp. She was gathering magic to turn Byleth into dust. 

He could heal Edelgard shouting but her voice was muffled, like a memory of an echo, and he had a hard time catching what she was trying to say. 

When the Immaculate One's pure magical force hit him, Byleth didn't turn to dust. But he did fall. 

*

v. Blue Lions, Lone Moon

The setting sun had stained the sky a dull sepia by the time Byleth regained consciousness. Mercedes had done her best reinforcing Manuela's healing spells and he felt as if he'd taken a few healthy steps away from certain death. 

'Where are the others?' he said, sitting up. The healers had laid out pallets on the floor of the great hall for the wounded. Most of the beds were unoccupied and Byleth wondered how many people needed only minor healing and how many never made it back to the monastery.

'Ingrid had gathered the others like you asked,' said Mercedes. 'And now they're helping the knights evacuate everyone.' 

'I should help out.' Byleth clipped the Sword of the Creator onto his belt. 'Thank you, Mercedes.' 

'Not at all.' She shook her head. 'The students are taking refuge in the forest of Charon--'

'And what of the Count?' said Byleth. Charon was technically part of the Kingdom, but the Count might choose to ally otherwise. It wasn't unusual for territories near borders to find they have more in common with their foreign neighbours than their distant allies. 

'Catherine said the Count will make sure the students won't come to any harm in the forest,' said Mercedes. 

Mercedes's wording was specific and Byleth knew she was quoting Catherine verbatim. The Count would allow safe passage for the students but not offer his protection. Still, it was more than Byleth expected. 

'Dimitri and Claude are leading the defence in the Eastern Gate,' Mercedes went on. People tended to underestimate her intellect because she was kind and spoke slowly, but Byleth always found Mercedes's intuition eerily accurate. She knew exactly what to tell Byleth before he could ask questions. 

Someone had taken off Byleth's armour and bandaged his arm. He made a fist with his left hand and felt only a twinge of pain. 'You should seek shelter soon.'

'Healers are not to be harmed during times of war. At least, in an ideal world.' Mercedes stood up from her chair and handed Byleth a cloth-wrapped package. 'Honeyed buns.' She winked. 'I thought you might need to fortify yourself.' 

'I could kiss you,' said Byleth. 

'Dimitri wouldn't like that.' She laughed. 'May the goddess protect you, professor.' 

Byleth ate one of Mercedes's honeyed buns as he headed out of the monastery proper, thinking about how people invoked Sothis's blessing and their firm belief in her existence. He hadn't given the idea much thought since he'd grown up outside the influence of the Church, but he wondered if becoming one with Sothis made him a goddess in her stead. 

And if so, was he allowed to bless himself? 

*

In the village below, the Adrestian army's demonic beasts killed men and destroyed houses in a mindless rampage. One of them broke away from its companions and headed in the direction of a group of students escaping via the Eastern Gate. 

Byleth pulled the Sword of the Creator out of its scabbard and started to run. He'd taken no more than four steps when he heard the Archbishop's voice.

'I won't allow Zanado to happen again,' she said, walking closer to Byleth. 

Zanado the Red Canyon, which didn't look particularly red. Byleth and his class had gone there twice and he'd tried to look for the obvious reasons the valley might be called that: minerals that made patches of the earth red, the trees, or flowering plants. 

The fragments of Sothis's memories told a terrible story of bloodshed and destruction. 

'Professor,' said Lady Rhea. 'Please look after everyone.'

She smiled and Byleth realised she was the only one who had the capacity to understand the infinity of Sothis that he contained. 

'Lady Rhea,' he said, but she was already moving away--with a flash of light that shamed the setting sun, the Immaculate One was swooping down the village to make a final stand against Adrestia. 

The Immaculate One might be a creature of myth, belonging to a time when immortal beings walked Fòdlan as saints, but even she would have a hard time fighting against hundreds of soldiers and a group of demonic beasts. Byleth hurried after her and thought of how, even with Sothis's power to turn back time, all he'd been doing the past few months was run and hope he wouldn't be too late. He'd failed to save Jeralt, but he could still protect Dimitri and help Lady Rhea. 

Byleth swung the Sword of the Creator, willing it to extend and destroy the armour covering the face of a demonic beast. It cried out, almost but not quite drowning out another sound--a familiar one, the sharp woosh of displaced air Byleth remembered hearing when Thales had come to save Kronya. 

Byleth turned around just as the Immaculate One said, 'Why have you come?'

Thales grinned as he threw a magical attack against Byleth. At that moment he understood the anger Dimitri felt for Edelgard; Byleth wanted to end Thales's life and he wanted to do so in a way that would hurt like they hurt Jeralt. Like the loneliness in Sothis's voice when she said goodbye. 

But there was no time for Byleth to dodge. Thales's attack hit him like a battering ram against castle doors, forcing him backwards and dangerously close to a chasm at the edge of the mountain. 

He thought he heard the Immaculate One scream as the ground gave way under his feet. He was falling and as he fell he thought of two things: 

He should have finished off all the honeyed buns. And he wished he'd gone to see Dimitri before coming to Lady Rhea's rescue. Not even to talk but just to see Dimitri's face, bloodied and bruised and scruffy as he was.

'Ah,' said Byleth. 'Fuck.'

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that ends the Academy phase! Thank you for getting this far 🙇
> 
> The War phase has long chapters--well not really Long long, but like 6k words per chapter--and it's taking a while to finish each one. Please send your thoughts and prayers, I want to cry....


	8. War: Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth wakes up to a war-torn Fòdlan.

i. 

Blood poured onto the land like rain. And as the blades of the fallen pierced the earth, the land wept. 

The people caught up in the terrible waves of war and death also wept. 

No one has the capacity to understand this endless cycle better than I. Or rather, you. 

*

Byleth opened his eyes, squinting at the unbroken blueness of the sky. Judging from the shadows cast by the trees and the ruins surrounding him, the time was closer to breakfast than lunch. The taste of Mercedes's honeyed buns was still fresh in his mind.

He had survived and none of his bones appeared to be broken from his fall. Even the arm Manuela had set felt normal and whole. Unexpected, but perhaps the old goddess still had tricks up her sleeve. He rubbed the top of his head with one hand, fingers pressing against his scalp that still held a lingering feeling of being slapped--or was it a comforting pat? Byleth wasn't sure, but the memory felt as real to him as the generous sprinkling of raisins and nuts on top of the buns. 

He stood up and began looking for familiar landmarks. Perhaps he would run into a villager who can give him directions back to Garreg Mach. 

*

ii. Azure Moon, Ethereal Moon

The trail of corpses led, like breadcrumbs, to the top of the goddess tower. Byleth picked his way up the stairs, careful not to disturb the dead on his way to meet their murderer. He could make an argument about how killing enemy soldiers didn't count in times of war, but to kill and see only an adversary instead of the person under the armour would mean Jeralt had failed to teach Byleth anything. 

He wondered what the man at the top of the tower saw when he faced his enemies. 

Because he knew who the man was; Byleth had felt a twinge of recognition when he'd seen the corpses of Imperial soldiers lying in the courtyard. Just like he could guess what the dining hall would serve for dinner from the way the kitchen smelled, he recognised--from the wounds he saw on the bodies--the calm brutality in the soldiers' deaths. The men hadn't been tortured. A quick look told Byleth they'd died from clean thrusts: chest or neck, quick and efficient blows that meant death had been almost instantaneous for them.

The pierced chest plates and crumpled helmets confirmed the soldiers had been killed by someone with a strength normal men did not possess. 

Byleth had known and yet, standing in the landing and looking at the man Dimitri had become, he paused. 

Sitting in an alcove with his back against the wall, Dimitri looked like a marionette with cut strings. He stirred when Byleth finally moved forward, looking up so the light from the windows caught his profile. The setting sun was kind to the prince and in the weak light, the blood looked no more than dark spots on his golden hair, just part of the shadows and grime that obscured Dimitri's face as effectively as the black patch that covered his right eye. 

Perhaps in the future, Byleth would find the right moment to ask about what Dimitri had gone through to sustain such an injury. For now there was Dimitri himself: much older and gaunt, the lines of exhaustion on his face visible even from far away, but alive. His pale eye looked barely sane as he met Byleth's gaze, but he was Dimitri. And he was beautiful. 

He tried to move away as Byleth approached. 

'You,' said Dimitri. 'I should have known you'd come and haunt me too.'

Byleth held out his hand. Seeing Dimitri slumped on the floor felt wrong; Byleth was used to having to tilt his chin up to meet Dimitri's eyes. 

'Stop looking at me like that.'

'Like what?' said Byleth. 

Dimitri looked up, frowning. 'I'll kill her like I promised. Just you wait.' 

'Dimitri,' said Byleth, slow and careful. He wasn't sure the prince could see him; Dimitri was probably talking to phantoms, like he did all those years ago. 'Are you all right?' 

Dimitri's face cleared and Byleth saw the man he used to be--tired and haunted but still smiling, still reaching out to those who needed help. Then Dimitri closed himself off again, standing up and holding his lance ready. 

'You're alive.' Dimitri's eye narrowed at Byleth's nod. 'Then you've come to kill me.' 

'Of course not.' Byleth was unsure about offering comfort; Dimitri had grown up around the knights of Fhirdiad and was familiar with the rough physical language Byleth had learned from Jeralt and his group of mercenaries. But this wasn't the same prince Byleth had left. Five years ago, Dimitri would have easily accepted the casual intimacy of thumps on the back and pats on the shoulder. He'd turn pink and stammer a bit, but he wouldn't pull away from his own lover. 

He did now and Byleth let his hand fall back to his side. 

'I'm glad you're safe,' said Byleth. 

Dimitri had been heading for the stairs, but this made him pause. He looked at Byleth from over his shoulder--he had to turn a half circle to do this, and for a moment Byleth thought Dimitri intended to charge back at him. Then he realised he was standing in Dimitri's blind side. 

'Hm,' said Dimitri. 

*

iii. Crimson Flower, Ethereal Moon 

In another history he had chosen differently, but in this one Byleth held Edelgard as she cried silently against his shoulder, raising one hand to give her head a reassuring pat. 

'I've never given up my search,' she said, once her tears had dried. 'Even though we found no clues of your whereabouts, I believed--I knew you were still alive.' 

He released her and she stepped away from him primly, as if embarrassed about her previous display of emotions. 

'Where have you been all these years, professor?' 

'I was asleep,' said Byleth. 

'This is not the time for jokes.' Edelgard frowned. 'You've been away for five years. Do you still wish to stand by my side, professor?' 

Byleth opened his mouth, but Edelgard went on, 'Of course, my resolve hasn't faltered. I would bring freedom back to the citizens of Fòdlan no matter the price I have to pay. But have you not changed your mind?' 

She wasn't used to this. Byleth could hear the uncertainty in her voice as she hurried to reassure him of her strength. He reached out again, placing his hand on her shoulder. 

'I'll stand by you, Edelgard.' 

He hadn't realised how tense she'd been until she relaxed, the set of her shoulders easing and her face betraying the faintest trace of relief. 'The Black Eagles Strike Force had been doing their best, but it's not the same without you. We've been getting ready for another major campaign, as you might have guessed.' 

Byleth shook his head; with no knowledge of what had transpired after his fall, he had as much authority to make educated guesses about Edelgard's plans as proclaim Caspar a cardinal of the Church. 'I really was asleep those five years.'

'Still at your jokes--' something about his face must have convinced her because Edelgard's eyes widened and she said, 'You're serious.'

She headed for the stairs, beckoning for him to follow. 'I must inform everyone of your return. I can catch you up on recent developments on our way to the Academy, if that's all right with you?' 

'Of course.' Byleth offered her his arm, which she gracefully took. 

'The Archbishop fled to Faerghus after we successfully captured Garreg Mach,' Edelgard began. 'Dimitri had been formally crowned as king and had offered her asylum--it's obvious the Kingdom would stand by the Church.' She sighed. 'Claude is keeping a neutral stance and making sure the Alliance does the same.' 

'Leicester territories are more flexible compared to Faerghus,' said Byleth. 

Edelgard nodded. 'I thought the same. The territories that share borders with Adrestia have been easily persuaded.' 

Byleth ran his tongue across his upper teeth. 'Dimitri is on the throne, then.' 

'Indeed.' Edelgard's voice was as neutral as Claude's position in the war. Another person might have betrayed themselves with their body language, but Edelgard had grown up in the volatile Adrestian court. Byleth noticed the involuntary movement of her arm only because he'd been looking for it. 

Not that Edelgard never showed her emotions--she wouldn't have run into his arms earlier if that was the case. But she was careful about things that might be used to hurt her and extended her consideration to the people she cared about. 

'He married into one of the minor houses in Western Faerghus,' she said, giving him a sideways glance. 'They're expecting their firstborn.'

Byleth nodded. The Kingdom had been having problems with its Western territories since the rebellion; Faerghus could ill afford to have Rowe and the rest defecting to Adrestia now. Allying with one of the Western houses via marriage was an astute move--Byleth wondered who'd come up with the plan. It didn't feel like something Dimitri would do. 

Then again, perhaps Byleth had never really known the man. 

'Professor?' Edelgard reached out for his hand, giving it a squeeze.

'I wonder how they remember us,' said Byleth. 

'I wonder,' said Edelgard. 'Not very well, I suppose.'

She turned away, but Byleth had already seen her frown, the downward tilt of her mouth. 

*

iv. Azure Moon, Guardian Moon

Before the conquering Imperial army reached Garreg Mach, Lady Rhea had asked Byleth to take over the Archbishop's responsibilities in case of her absence. He'd thought it was a strange request--no matter the colour of his hair or how he and Sothis had become one, he didn't think he was more qualified than Seteth to lead the Church. He hadn't even known of the existence of Seiros until he'd come to the monastery. 

But Seteth himself had brought it up, upon his return with the Knights of Seiros and the Academy staff. 'I could scarcely believe Sir Gilbert's news, but it appears you're indeed still alive.' 

'But you weren't with Lady Rhea?' said Catherine. 

Byleth shook his head. Lady Rhea had been alive before he fell down the abyss, but he didn't think Catherine would find much comfort in that information. 

'Our main goal is to find and rescue Lady Rhea,' said Seteth. 'But until then, she has entrusted you with the Archbishop's duties and all the authority that comes with it. Do you have any objections?' 

There was a surprised murmur among some of the knights--they knew of Byleth's godless upbringing, but those fears could be easily allayed by Seteth's endorsement and Byleth's own parentage. He was, after all, the son of their former Captain and one of the nuns. But they found Byleth's loyalty to the Church suspect--a fact none of them would say to his face because it meant accusing him of bending for the prince of Faerghus and that wasn't the kind of thing people said without getting challenged to a duel. 

No one needed to know whom Byleth was fucking, but he had agreed to Lady Rhea's request. Under normal circumstances he would have asked Seteth to reconsider, but they were in the middle of war. Byleth was of little use to the Church and its faithful in times of peace, but right now he was in his element.

'I hope for your continued support,' said Byleth. He wondered what his mother would have made of this--from Jeralt's diary he knew Sitri had been gentle and kind. 

'My lord Seteth,' said Gilbert. 'If you would pardon my boldness--'

'I understand.' Seteth gave him a curt nod and Byleth tried not to smile. Gilbert was well known for his overly formal way of speech and while Seteth could find no fault in that, he was also too busy to wait for Gilbert to get to his point. 'We have no objections to allying with the Kingdom forces. Your Grace?' 

A few seconds passed before Byleth realised Seteth was talking to him. 'Our forces alone are not enough. It would serve us well to fight together.'

'Is this fine, Your Highness?' said Gilbert. 

'It doesn't matter,' said Dimitri, crossing his arms. 'As long we destroy that woman and the new empire she seeks to build, I don't care what you do.' 

'Don't be like that,' said Annette. 'We're all fighting side by side, please don't act like this has nothing to do with you.' 

'She's right,' said Sylvain, before Dimitri could reply. 'We're going against superior forces and morale is in short supply. We need to do what we can to rally our men.'

'I suppose you'd want to take them out for tea,' said Dimitri. 

'Now,' said Byleth. 'Let's not fight.' 

'Stay out of this,' said Dimitri. 

From the corner of his eyes, Byleth saw some of the knights raise their weapons. He held up a hand to stop them but didn't break eye contact with Dimitri. 'I think you're tired, Your Highness.' 

'Do what you will,' said Dimitri, turning away. 'But I would be the one to cut that woman's head off her neck.'

'I recommend warm food and a good night's sleep,' said Byleth. 

'A sound advice for everyone,' said Seteth. 'This meeting is adjourned for now.' 

Byleth watched the knights and soldiers leave the hall in a loose queue. Dimitri stood nearby, although he might as well be in Dagda for all the attention he gave Byleth. Or anyone else, for that matter. Ashe had stepped up to the prince and was having no luck getting acknowledged so he could say his piece. Dimitri wouldn't have insisted on protocol, but that was him as a student in Officers Academy. The man who stood before them would have already been crowned king if not for betrayal and conspiracies, and Byleth doubted anyone could forget that. 

Caspar, who was standing behind Ashe, grew bored of waiting and elbowed Ashe in the small of the back. 

'Your Highness,' said Ashe. 'I'm very sorry about Dedue.' 

Dimitri was silent for so long Ashe must have assumed he wasn't going to reply and was already moving away when Dimitri said, 'So am I.' 

There were times when other emotions bled through the anger and hatred that smouldered in Dimitri, and he'd look so helpless and young--which he was, no matter the scope of his power and responsibilities--that Byleth wanted to give him a hug. But Dimitri would probably not appreciate the gesture and Byleth liked not getting punched in the face. 

So he stayed where he was despite Dimitri looking lost and in need of comforting, which was good too because Dimitri pulled back and added, 'They must pay, those traitors and those Imperial dogs.' 

He glared at Caspar as he spoke and Caspar breathed in, the sound almost a hiss. Byleth stepped forward, wondering if he was strong enough to stop Dimitri if the prince had a mind for a tussle. Byleth could break the fight easily enough, it was wanting the boys alive after which made things tricky. 

But Caspar stepped away without saying anything and Byleth made a note to buy him a drink sometime. Walking away from Dimitri couldn't have been easy and not only because a person with any kind of self-preservation would never turn their back on someone who could kill with his bare hands. Those five years Dimitri had spent alone, betrayed and on the run from Cornelia's machinations, had made him belligerent and hurtful. Byleth felt most of Dimitri's old friends and companions understood this, but it would take the unflagging patience of a saint for them not to lose their temper at some point. 

'Where are you going?' said Byleth, as Dimitri made for the exit. 

'What concern is it of yours?' 

Byleth took a deep breath. 'I'm going to fetch you some food and then leave you alone,' he said. 'Would you tell me?' 

Dimitri looked at the space above Byleth's head and finally deigned to say, 'The cathedral.' 

'All right,' said Byleth. 'I won't take long.' 

Dimitri snorted before walking away but Byleth thought that went quite well, all things considered. There was little anyone could do for Dimitri, not when he refused to communicate. Gilbert seemed to think Byleth had some influence on him and Felix must have thought the same because he'd asked Byleth to do something about the wild boar before the meeting started. But Byleth was no longer their professor and this Dimitri did not want him; his ties with Dimitri were mere cobwebs compared to the bonds Dimitri had formed in Faerghus. 

Byleth hurried off for the dining hall. He had promised Felix he'd do what he could--which wasn't much, but at least he could make sure Dimitri was warm and fed. 

*

v. Azure Moon, Guardian Moon

Garreg Mach had a strange defensive machinery in place that involved magical flames forming a wall around the monastery and the surrounding village. Byleth thought it used a similar technology to what they'd seen in the Holy Tomb. 

'You're not wrong,' said Constance, as she urged her pegasus to fly next to Byleth. 

'And our path to the triggering mechanism?' said Yuris. 

'Even someone like me would be able to manage.' Constance shaded her eyes from the sun with one hand. 'In fact, perhaps I would only slow you down.'

Yuris gave Byleth a sideways look. 'Constance and I can handle this.' 

'And what would those flames do?' said Byleth. He gestured for Constance and Yuris to follow him into the ruins of a granary. The building had been gutted and most of the walls had been torn down, but the foundations remained sound and solidly supported the roof through fires, raids, and Imperial attack. 

'They act like liquid,' said Constance, snapping back into her flamboyant self once out of the bright sunlight. 'There's a hollow layer between the monastery proper and Abyss--a network of pipes, if you will. The flames would flow through that network and burn anyone it comes in contact with.'

'Fuck that,' said Yuris, crossing his arms. 'The pipes could also burn. Are you sure it would even work? I've never heard of any magical flames--not in books or old wives' tales.' 

'Zanado,' said Byleth, nodding when Constance gasped and turned to face him. 'The Red Canyon was likely named from the blood spilled there. But perhaps.'

Constance rubbed a finger against her chin. 'An interesting hypothesis. I'll look into it.' 

'That's fascinating,' said Yuris, although his tone suggested he would walk out of the building if they continued in the same vein. 'But I'm not going to risk the residents of Abyss. We're not doing this.'

'I said "anyone". My research tells me the magical flames would only burn flesh,' said Constance. Byleth knew she wasn't at fault for how people deployed magic before the conventions set by the School of Sorcery, but conversations tended to take a horrific turn whenever ancient magic was involved and ancient magic was Constance's speciality. 'And the schematics I found in the Shadow Library show the Abyss would be well protected. The flames are for Garreg Mach's defence, not to kill the people underground.'

'Diagrams,' said Yuris, to Byleth's raised eyebrow. 'And I'm not convinced. Look at what's left of Zanado.' 

Byleth sighed. 'He's right.' 

'Of course,' said Constance, trying to hide her disappointment under decorous politeness. 'It's your call, Your Grace.'

'But we might have no choice,' said Byleth. 'Let's make our way for the triggering mechanism anyway.' 

'You don't have to join us,' said Yuris. 'I know you're worried about the prince.' 

Byleth nodded, more to show he'd heard Yuris than as a reply. He'd almost forgotten Yuris had come from Faerghus--he'd been Rowe's ward before he ended up in Abyss. 

'He's not the most stable leader, is he?' said Yuris. 'But--and I hate to say it, but we might not have anything better. Go.' 

Byleth looked at Constance, who gave him a nod. 'Thank you.' 

'Better you than any one of us,' said Yuris, grinning. 'Good luck.' 

*

'Prof--' Ingrid caught herself and smiled at her blunder. 'Your Grace. What of the defensive mechanism?' 

Byleth took a step back as Ingrid's pegasus hovered close, circling him a few times before landing next to him. 'Yuris thinks the whole thing is too chancy.' 

'We might not need to use it after all,' said Ingrid. 'Our troops are doing tolerably well.'

'And Dimitri?' 

'Mercedes and Felix are watching his back as best as they could.' Ingrid sighed. 'At first I--' she looked at Byleth, who nodded at her to go on. 'I distrusted Dedue at first. But now I realise how much we actually relied on him.' 

'To tell you the truth,' said Byleth. 'I was looking for him earlier, until I remembered.' 

He'd gotten used to seeing Dedue, calm and steady and towering over most of the soldiers in the battlefield. He should have been a scary sight, but to his companions he was something of a beacon. 

'We have to make sure he didn't die in vain, professor,' said Ingrid. 

He looked at her face to see if she'd meant to use his old title. She had and he gave her a smile in return. 'If things look dire you need to send Constance a signal. She'll be expecting you.'

'Understood,' said Ingrid, preparing to take flight again. 'His Highness is in the village square. The Adrestian army's commanding officer--' her voice trailed off again. 

'What is it?' 

'I think he looks familiar. Perhaps he was among those who had come to take Garreg Mach five years ago.' Ingrid frowned. 'Please be careful.'

Byleth wondered if he should bestow blessings from the goddess now, but decided he couldn't. Not when he'd already failed one of his students and might lose more if he wasn't careful. Instead he gave Ingrid a sign for good luck. 'You too.'

*

Ingrid was right; Byleth did recognize the Imperial army's commanding officer. He was the man who had tried to cut Byleth's arm off five years ago, but that wasn't all. 

'He's my uncle by marriage,' said Caspar. 'Randolph von Bergliez. I thought he looked familiar when I saw him half a decade ago, but I didn't realise until now.'

'I'm tempted to ask if you're sure,' said Ashe, patting Mook's neck absently. 'But I can see the resemblance.' 

The Adrestian general did have the Bergliez face--conventionally handsome on him compared to Caspar's uneven sharpness, but the likeness was enough to suggest he was the get of the previous Count's light-of-love. Which meant poor Randolph had even fewer chances of advancement than the Crestless Caspar--at least, in the traditional Adrestian court. Edelgard's war was being waged to destroy the hierarchy in the ruling families of Fòdlan: exactly the kind of cause that would appeal to men like Randolph. 

But Randolph's ambition made him terribly keen and more likely to make mistakes. Byleth watched the general break from his guards to get closer to Dimitri. 

'Good luck out there,' said Byleth. He was about to jump from the crumbling wall to rejoin the fray when he noticed an Adrestian soldier within spelling distance. He struck the man with magical lightning before hopping down. 'I'd understand if you'd rather not kill your uncle.'

Caspar climbed onto Mook's back and glared in Randolph's direction. 'You think we should clean up after family?' Realising what he'd said, he added, 'I'm sorry, I didn't think.'

'It's fine,' said Ashe. 'I feel we owe them that much.' 

The lightning must have caught Randolph's attention and he must have decided Byleth was an easier target than Dimitri because he changed his course and headed for Byleth instead. Byleth couldn't blame him, he'd think twice before going against Dimitri too and he used to be the man's professor. 

'Professor,' said Dimitri. 'Get down!' 

From across the battlefield, Byleth met Dimitri's eye. Dimitri was failing to cut down three soldiers at once, finally pushing them aside as he hurried forward, and Byleth silently thanked Mercedes for making sure none of the soldiers came back to stab Dimitri while he was too busy glaring at Byleth. 

So the prince was worried. Byleth barely had time to appreciate the fact because Randolph was charging at him with a two-headed battle-axe. He sighed and moved to meet the man head-on. 

'I can't believe you're still alive,' said Randolph, bringing his axe down. 'We heard you fell in battle five years ago.' 

Byleth deflected the blow with the Sword of the Creator, rocking back to cushion himself from the impact. He recovered quickly, pushing Randolph back with a series of thrusts. The general wasn't bad--Bergliez was a military family and they obviously knew their way around the battlefield. 

'Do you mind, professor?' said Caspar. He had dismounted from his wyvern and returned to Byleth's side in time to block a blow that would otherwise have strained Byleth's arm. Speed would have worked to Byleth's advantage, but he also had to keep a close eye on Imperial pegasus knights. Byleth had already dealt with one of the pesky bastards while parrying with Randolph and got a spear to his side for his efforts. The weapon hadn't pierced his armour but it would leave an inconvenient bruise later. 

'Thank you,' said Byleth, extending his gratitude to Ashe, who had swooped down on Mook's back to ward off another pegasus rider. 

'You're Caspar, aren't you?' said Randolph. He didn't seem to mind facing a new opponent; he knew his men were losing and was trying to buy them time to retreat. Byleth could see how he'd risen from the ranks so quickly. 'Traitor to the Empire and your own family. The Emperor told me about you.'

'Didn't think she'd remember me,' said Caspar, sounding surprised. 

'You could have found the glory you seek with her,' said Randolph.

A grappler was doing his damned best to punch a hole through Byleth's stomach but Byleth risked a glance at Randolph's direction anyway. The decisive set in Randolph's expression told Byleth the general believed what he was saying. 

'Not like this,' said Caspar. He looked almost sad as he slammed the flat side of his axe against Randolph's face. 

Byleth stepped away as Dimitri ran his lance through the back of the grappler's neck. 

'Capture him,' said Dimitri. 

*

vi. Crimson Flower, Guardian Moon

Some progress had been made in repairing the damages of war in Garreg Mach; Byleth had seen fortifications and walls being mended. But the Imperial army was prepared for a long haul and careful about allocating provisions--they simply didn't have enough men and resources for the kind of rebuilding needed to return the monastery to its past glory. Byleth decided getting reacquainted with the place and its inhabitants were in order. 

'I would love to accompany you,' said Edelgard, without looking up from the pile of papers on her desk. 'But Hubert wouldn't take it kindly if I delay the paperwork longer than I already have.'

'You can treat me to dinner,' said Byleth. He didn't mind doing the rounds by himself, but making Edelgard promise to buy him dinner meant making sure she took a break and had a meal. 'I should catch up with everyone.' 

'Everyone' included the people living in Abyss, as well as the merchants and common folk who had decided to come back to the monastery. Familiar faces were always a pleasant surprise; the war had claimed enough lives that Byleth was glad to reunite with his grumpy apothecary, even though he owed the old man quite a large amount of money. 

'Professor,' said Ashe, waving at Byleth from one of the stalls selling produce. He gave a couple of tomatoes a calculating look before placing them in the basket Caspar was holding. 'I'm glad you're back. Everyone's smiling a lot more now we have you on our side.' 

'Same to you,' said Byleth. 

Ashe smiled. 'Of course. I told you five years ago, didn't I? Lord Lonato would have wanted this.' 

'You shouldn't let dead people tell you what to do,' said Caspar. 'And I hate tomatoes.' 

'They're good for you,' said Ashe. He laughed when he saw Byleth's raised eyebrows. 'There's been some tension in House Bergliez. You might have met Caspar's uncle?'

'I can't say I have.' 

'Randolph was made a general in the Imperial army recently,' said Ashe. 'And if we believe his mother, the previous Count Bergliez had planned on naming him as the heir as well.' 

'Except the old man died of apoplexy before he could name his new heir,' said Caspar. 'And my father became Count because of the old agreement.' 

'It's not like you to care about all this,' said Byleth. 

'I don't.' Caspar sighed and stomped away from the vegetable stalls without waiting for the tomatoes Ashe was still holding. 'And Randolph's fine. I can't stand his mother, is all.' 

'She has some choice words about House Bergliez,' said Ashe, softly. 'She has to defend her position you see; her children were born before the previous Count could marry her.' 

That certainly made things more complicated for poor Randolph von Bergliez. Byleth nodded. 'Nobility at its finest, of course.' 

Ashe tossed Byleth one of the tomatoes and took a bite from the one he was holding. 'I think Caspar's ashamed of the family drama, but it's not his fault he was born into the main branch.'

'Good thing we're going to get rid of all that, then,' said Byleth, biting into his tomato as well. It was crunchy and sour, perfect for snacking on. 

'Yes,' said Ashe. 'Indeed.'

*

Byleth met Randolph and his sister Fleche in the knight's hall. Randolph was helping Fleche train and was doing a good job of not losing his temper even if he obviously had better things to do. The guy's dedication to his family was undeniable if nothing else. 

'Have we met before?' said Randolph, after Byleth introduced himself. 

'I was a professor,' said Byleth. 

'You're the Emperor's adviser,' said Fleche, peering up at Byleth's face. 'I remember seeing you five years ago.' 

Byleth raised an eyebrow. Fleche didn't look old enough to have fought in the Battle of Garreg Mach. 

Randolph must have realised the same. 'How did you see him? You were in Bergliez.' 

'Well,' said Fleche, drawing the syllable out as she avoided everyone's eyes. 'They needed someone to take care of the horses.' 

'I can't believe mother allowed this to happen,' said Randolph. 

'And that's why you won't tell her,' said Fleche. 'I want to make my own name as well. Why do I have to wait and worry while you go and risk your life for the Empire?' 

Byleth was strongly reminded of Berenice, who was born in a family of mercenaries and had to constantly prove herself as her brother's equal. He wondered how she was doing. 

'I can help you train if you want,' he said, before Randolph could start scolding. 

Fleche's eyes lit up. 'Would you?' She turned red and tried to regain her manners. 'That is, if it's no bother. You're probably busy.' 

Byleth liked the siblings. They were rougher around the edges than the usual noble, especially considering their precarious position in court, but Byleth thought that was a point in their favour. 

'Not at all,' said Byleth. 'I was a professor, after all.' 

*

vii. Azure Moon, Guardian Moon

The Church officials--including the deputy Archbishop--and the knights of Faerghus refused to call the affair a public execution, and so it wasn't. Looking at his former students and the handful of knights that gathered around Dimitri as he interrogated General Randolph of the Imperial army, Byleth tried to convince himself a dozen people would not constitute a crowd. 

Perhaps the Knights of Seiros were right to doubt him; Byleth might be more willing to bend the truth for Dimitri than he first thought. 

'I have a family to return to,' said Randolph, in between gasps of pain. Caspar had broken Randolph's nose and the knights hadn't been gentle when they had escorted the general to the cathedral. 'Please--'

'A filthy bastard like you, speaking of family?' said Dimitri. Left for years with no one but himself to talk to, his every syllable dripping with hatred and anger, Dimitri had never sounded more posh. Byleth found the contrast fascinating; the elegantly dismissive tone coming from someone covered in blood and grime. 'Listen to yourself, general. Did you not kill the men who knelt in front of you and begged for their lives, just as you do now?' 

'I did it for the Empire and my family,' said Randolph, his voice rising. 'What do you--' he coughed and spat out blood. 'What do you know about love and honour, you fucking monster?' 

'You shed blood for your love and honour,' said Dimitri. 'And so I shed blood for the regrets of the dead. Between the two of us, the pile of corpses grows; are you not as much a monster as I?' 

Dimitri must have paid more attention to his classes in rhetoric than Byleth had assumed. But under the anger was the comfortless conviction in being damned, the reason why part of Dimitri's hatred was aimed at himself. Byleth had wondered what Dimitri saw when he killed his enemies, and now Byleth knew and there was nothing he could do about it. 

'Fuck you,' said Randolph. 'I am nothing like you.' 

'Do you pretend your hands don't stink of the blood of the innocent?' Almost lazily, Dimitri crushed Randolph's fingers with the blunt end of his spear shaft. Randolph's screams were strangled and wet, drowning out Dimitri's next words so Byleth had to read his lips, 'Just like mine.' 

Byleth saw movement from the corner of his eyes and turned to see Ashe and Sylvain struggling to hold Caspar back. 

'I hope you're ready to watch me kill your men one by one, general. Or do I have to pluck your eyes out?'

Byleth unsheathed his dagger and leaned down to slice Randolph's throat from the back. The general released a gurgling sound that might have been an apology and Byleth thought he heard Caspar gasp. 

'What do you think you're doing?' said Dimitri. 

'I miss Dimitri,' said Byleth. 

'That man is long dead; there's nothing left but me.' Dimitri moved close, the kind of proximity that made people uncomfortable except Byleth had been much closer to Dimitri before.

'If I sicken you, kill me,' Dimitri went on. His lips brushed against the tip of Byleth's ear, a reminder of Dimitri's dominance and annoying proof he was aware of Byleth's continuing attraction. 'But until then I will use you and everyone close to you, even to the death.' 

Byleth's grip tightened on the handle of his dagger, but he allowed Dimitri to leave the courtyard untouched. 

'Bergliez.' Sylvain paused and took a deep breath, but his voice was still shaky when he spoke, 'You have our deepest apologies, we--'

'The fuck does it matter?' said Caspar. 'That man never trusted me.' 

'A reparation is perhaps called for,' said Gilbert. 'If my lord would accept--'

'I'm not a lord anymore,' said Caspar. He pulled away from Ashe and pointed at Byleth with the tip of his axe. 'I'm here for you and you have my loyalty.' 

'I won't let you down,' said Byleth. 

'I know.' Caspar looked down and Byleth noticed the wet streaks that ran down his cheeks. 'But restrain your bloody lover.' 

The concern Dimitri had shown for Byleth earlier bled into whispered threats and the arrogant familiarity in Dimitri's smile as he left Byleth to deal with Randolph's corpse. 

Caspar was probably right. Dimitri, cold and unhinged and so sure of Byleth's cooperation, was still Byleth's lover. 

But fuck if Byleth knew what that meant or what to do about it. 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recruited Caspar is honestly one of my favourite 'hidden' stories in FE3H. His reactions to having to face his father in battle and the fallout once Adrestia loses is so good, and it's only told in the Exploration bits of the game. 
> 
> Anyway, we're finally in War Phase! This Dimitri is much harder to write, but we do our best!! 😔


	9. War: Safe passage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Dimitri bicker about war tactics.

i. Azure Moon, Pegasus Moon

Byleth had to do some finagling, but Seteth finally agreed to allow the War Council to convene in the Cardinals' chamber. From what Byleth had heard, the cardinals of the Church were the stuff of arcane legend: their identities kept secret and the room they used for meetings locked at all times. With Lady Rhea missing and cardinals going about their mysterious business, the room remained unused until Byleth started dropping hints about the War Council's lack of privacy. Spies were to be expected and Sylvain's men were doing their best to muddy the waters of information, but the Council didn't have to tempt fate by holding meetings in the dining hall. 

And so they gathered in the Cardinals' chamber to plan their next course of action: the Knights of Seiros and Dimitri's loyal followers racking their brains for a way to win a war with their meagre resources. 

'We may have no choice but to ask Lord Rodrigue for help,' said Annette. 

Felix snorted but didn't contradict her. Fraldarius was sometimes regarded as the Flower of the North, comprising lands that could support agricultural efforts despite the harsh conditions in northern Faerghus. It came second only to Fhirdiad in wealth and power, but was currently tied up with leading the opposition against the Dukedom--Byleth was unsure if Rodrigue could spare the men and supplies, but Felix didn't seem to think this was an issue. 

'So Rodrigue survived?' said Dimitri. 'His help would be appreciated.'

'What I'd appreciate is the look on the old man's face once he sees what's become of you,' said Felix, with a short and nasty laugh. 

Dimitri's jaw worked but he didn't rise to the bait. He was behaving surprisingly well; Byleth wondered if Dimitri had finally managed to get a good night's sleep. 

'But what of our plans after, Your Highness?' said Gilbert. 'Once we have secured help and reinforcements, we still need to decide on a course of action.'

'We head for Enbarr,' said Dimitri. His tone suggested Gilbert should have already known this. 'This war would continue until their so-called Emperor is dead. We'll crush the problem at its root.' 

'Even so,' said Annette, 'your people are suffering under Cornelia's reign in Firdhiad. They need you, Your Highness.' 

'Indeed,' said Ingrid. 'I understand that putting an end to this war is important, but we must also think about the citizens of Faerghus--'

'We're losing precious time arguing about what we have to do,' Sylvain cut in. Byleth didn't think Sylvain had a horse in this race--both choices had advantages and Sylvain had made the best out of worse situations--but he must have noticed Dimitri's expression darkening. 'Marching for Enbarr would make for a decisive victory.' 

'If the rumours are true,' said Mercedes. 'Then Lady Rhea is being held prisoner in the Imperial capital. I think we should try to save her as quickly as possible.' 

This was met with a murmur of approval from the Knights of Seiros. Seteth held out one hand. 

'I leave the decision to you,' he said, looking at Byleth. 'What do you think, Your Grace?' 

Byleth knew Dimitri was staring daggers at his right side, but he pretended not to notice. 'I suggest we head for Fhirdiad.' 

'You represent the Church,' said Dimitri, amidst angry protests from the Knights. 'And yet you would leave the Archbishop to fend for herself in enemy territory.'

'You've seen the Imperial army,' said Byleth. 'You know they outnumber us ten to one. To march against them now is suicide.' 

'I don't care if I die, so long as I cut off that woman's head beforehand.'

'But I do care, Your Highness.' Byleth smiled, knowing it would irritate Dimitri. 'You may have the right to ask people to die for you--'

'Lady Rhea trusted you to protect her people,' said one of the Knights. Byleth tried to remember the man's name. He had been newly Knighted when Byleth got hired as a professor; keen and ambitious and enamoured of Lady Rhea like everyone in the Knighthood. 'But all you've done so far is cover up for the prince and suck--'

Alois thumped a fist against the table. 'Enough. Ronaldo, you're punching above your weight.' 

'Thank you, Alois.' Byleth turned back to Dimitri. 'But I'm not letting my men risk their lives for a king who doesn't want to live.' 

'And how will marching to Fhirdiad help us?' said Ronaldo. He flinched when Alois hit the table again. 'Your Grace.' 

'It might have fallen upon hard times without a proper leader,' said Seteth. 'But Fhirdiad is still the Kingdom capital. His Grace thinks to add their strength to ours.' 

'Perhaps a vote?' said Ashe. 

'We waste time on useless prattling,' said Dimitri. 'While on her throne, that woman keeps killing and conquering. The dead weeps for revenge and this is how we answer?'

'Maybe so,' said Gilbert, exchanging a glance with Seteth. 'Perhaps we can delay our decision until we hear Lord Rodrigue's reply.'

'Depending on the response from Fraldarius, we might not need to requisition Fhirdiad's forces.' Seteth's look implored Byleth to be the adult and let the argument go. 'Don't you agree, Your Grace?' 

'We shall see,' said Byleth, leaving the room. 

*

Byleth allowed his footsteps to echo across the cathedral, giving Dimitri warning on his approach. He stopped before he got within punching distance.

'Fuck off,' said Dimitri. 

'I'm sorry,' said Byleth. 'What I said was uncalled for.' 

Dimitri exhaled and said nothing, but he looked less brittle than when he'd left the Cardinals' chamber. There was something vulnerable about Dimitri and his anger: sharp and crystalline and as ephemeral as icicles on a sunny winter morning. 

He was beautiful and he was blinding. 

'Please,' said Byleth. But he didn't think he could deal with Dimitri's barbed remarks, didn't want to hand Dimitri more weapons to hurt him with, so he shut his mouth and turned to leave.

The words played in his mind in time with his footsteps: don't die. 

*

'You haven't changed at all,' said Manuela, pouring Byleth a generous helping of spiced rum. 'Just like me.' She went on before he had a chance to reply, 'Let a girl dream, professor.'

'False,' said Byleth, raising his glass in Manuela's direction. 'You're more beautiful than I remember.'

Manuela laughed, the sound as clear as the clinking of her glass against his. 'Why aren't all men as sweet as you?' 

'That's what I want to know.' Byleth took a sip of the rum and made appreciative sounds. Manuela obviously knew where to get the good stuff. 

'Troubles with the prince, then?' 

'Does everyone in the monastery think we're fucking?' said Byleth. 

'Are you going to deny it, professor?' said Manuela, sounding genuinely surprised. 'The way he looks at you.' 

'Byleth,' said Byleth. 'No one calls me by name anymore.' 

'You may call me Manuela then,' said Manuela, with a wink. She recognised his clumsy attempt at changing the subject and was willing to let it go. 'I worked for the Academy for almost a decade; strange to think it no longer exists. We trained the best in Fòdlan in the arts of war and authority, and now our students are dying out there.' 

Byleth glared at his glass. 'More would die if we push through like this.'

'Us professors can only ever teach,' said Manuela, 'and hope for the best.' She reached across the table to top his nearly empty glass. 'Of course, as the acting Archbishop you technically have as much say in the decision-making as His Highness.' 

'Hm,' said Byleth. He drank his rum and thought about it. 'I fear he'd break away completely if I push too hard.' 

'It would be impossible to save them all,' said Manuela. 

Byleth looked up with a frown, wondering if she was going to lecture him about idealism, but Manuela was still talking, 'But that's the healer's job and I'll be damned if we didn't try.' 

'Prof--Manuela--'

'You stand by His Highness until he sees sense.' Manuela raised her fists, as if ready to box with Byleth. 'The rest of us will make sure no one else loses their lives.' 

She was right; he had strong allies and he shouldn't forget that. 'Thank you.' 

'Now tell me,' said Manuela, with another wink. 'Does he really call you "professor" in bed?'

Byleth saved himself from having to reply by half-choking on rum and his own spit. 

*

ii. Azure Moon, Pegasus Moon

'I can't believe the old man Gwendal's truly gone.' 

'Drink up.' Byleth handed Yuris his flask before accepting a bowl of food from Ashe. They had a small fire going, the light just enough so the men could see what they were eating. Charon was keeping his neutral stance on the war, but for the sake of Catherine he had promised the allied Kingdom forces safe passage to and from Ailell. Byleth reckoned they were more likely to encounter bandits than Imperial forces and betraying their location was less of a problem than getting robbed in the dark. 

'I've heard about him from Lord Lonato,' said Ashe, settling himself next to Byleth on the mossy remains of a fallen tree. 'He seemed like a good man. And an honourable knight.' 

'Loyal to his lord to the very end.' Yuris took a healthy swig of brandy. 'But he was the only person in Rowe's household that treated me like a person when I was there.' 

Byleth chewed on his fish sandwich and nodded. Yuris never spoke about the specifics of his adoption by Lord Rowe and it was none of Byleth's business, but he imagined a peasant boy thrust into life at court would have to fight to keep his place there.

'Most of the folk from Gaspard are pleasant farmer stock,' said Ashe, biting into a chunk of hard cheese. 'And the older ones even remember eating at my parents' tavern.' 

'A close-knit village,' said Yuris. 'Rowe had taken me to visit a few times.' 

'Even so, some of the landowners still thought of me as an opportunistic sluggard and treated me as such.' Ashe was careful not to let his voice reflect his emotions; his tone was level and almost uninterested. 'It's probably worse in Arianrhod.' 

'The Silver Maiden,' said Yuris, shaking his head. 'And a fucking bitch. Rowe's court guarded its social standing like the fortress walls. They hated me on sight.' He laughed. 'I'm glad to be done with that. Gwendal was too good for them.'

'A toast to Sir Gwendal, then?' said Byleth. 

They passed Byleth's flask around and Byleth poured a generous mouthful onto the ground for Jeralt. 

'I'm guessing you fellows have a need for more drink.' 

Byleth looked over his shoulder to see Lord Rodrigue approaching. He was closely followed by Catherine and Caspar, who carried a barrel of beer between them. 

'Now you're talking,' said Yuris. 

'We ran out of mugs,' said Catherine. From her colour and the deliberate way she talked, Byleth reckoned she'd already had several mugs' worth of beer earlier. 'But we can fill up your bowls.' 

'Much obliged,' said Ashe, holding out his empty bowl under the tap. 'Would you join us, Lord Rodrigue?'

'I'd love to take the weight off my feet for a bit,' said Rodrigue, sitting next to Ashe. 'If that's all right with you?' 

'No worries,' said Catherine. 'There are some folks who haven't had their share yet, so we're moving ahead.'

'Do you want a top-up, professor?' said Caspar, bringing the barrel closer to Byleth and almost out of Catherine's grip. 'Hey, watch out.' 

'You watch out,' said Catherine. She twisted the tap as Byleth held out his bowl again. 'What if we get attacked on the way back to the monastery?'

'I trust everyone to know when to stop drinking,' said Byleth, taking a dainty sip of beer. 

'That's quite a leap of faith, professor.' Rodrigue smiled. 'Or rather, it's "Your Grace" now, isn't it?' 

Byleth shook his head. 'Whatever suits my lord. I'm only holding the fort until Lady Rhea comes back.' 

Caspar filled everyone's bowls once more before he and Catherine excused themselves. Rodrigue suggested a toast to their allied forces. 

'From what I heard, your leadership is instrumental to our victories,' he said to Byleth. 'My son has little to say to me, but he speaks very highly of you.' 

'He's quite the charmer,' said Yuris, laughing at the paradox of Byleth and his stony face being able to command the kind of affectionate loyalty that he did. Yuris winked as Byleth stuck out his lower lip. 'The things we do for a pretty face, my lord.' 

'Indeed.' Rodrigue laughed as well, raising his own mug in Byleth's direction. 'I hear the prince agrees.' 

'Did Felix tell you that too?' said Byleth, choosing to focus on Felix gossiping with his father about Dimitri's liaisons. The alternative was acknowledging Lord Fraldarius has teasingly brought up Byleth's sex life in public. 

'Not in so many words.' Rodrigue's expression became thoughtful. 'Do you mind taking an evening walk with an old man, Your Grace?' 

'My pleasure,' said Byleth, standing up. 'And "old" is hardly a word I'd use to describe my lord.' 

'You're not bad.' Rodrigue patted Byleth's shoulder. 'If you'll excuse us, gentlemen.' 

Byleth appreciated how Rodrigue waited for Ashe and Yuris to wave them off before gesturing in the direction he wished to take. A man of Rodrigue's age and rank didn't need to uphold social niceties, but he was friendly and treated the soldiers well. His men obviously loved him. 

'Your father was a smooth talker as well, if I remember correctly,' said Rodrigue, as they walked down the overgrown path. They were half a day's ride to Castle Charon and Byleth reckoned the path had been worn into the forest by people who foraged for wild berries and mushrooms. 'The Blade Breaker, wasn't he? We'd had dealings in the past. He was a rough man, but very charismatic nonetheless. I'm sorry for your loss.'

'It was quite a while ago,' said Byleth. It was a lie; five years had passed for everyone else but not for him. The memory of that rainy winter day was fresh in his mind: the metallic scent of blood and Jeralt's weight in his arms. Jeralt had felt soft in death--without the fire and focus that made him the man he was, he'd seemed smaller. Breakable and broken. Byleth finished off the rest of his beer.

'When they brought back Glenn's armour and his sword, I wondered if I should be relieved,' said Rodrigue. He nodded at Byleth. 'Yes, Glenn was Felix's older brother. There was nothing left of him after the tragedy in Duscur; the rebels burned everything, you see. To destroy evidence.' 

Byleth thought of the burn marks on Dimitri's hands. 'Was it a relief not to see what they'd done to your son?' 

'Sometimes I think that.' Rodrigue shook his head. 'But His Highness doesn't have the comfort of ignorance. The dead do not let go of us so easily, professor.'

There were mornings when Byleth regretted waking up, wanting to return to the land of dreams where Jeralt was still alive. 'Yes.' 

'The more they are loved the stronger their grip upon us,' said Rodrigue. 'I'm afraid I'm a silly old man who can't bring himself to scold the prince.' 

'Someone must,' said Byleth. He didn't have to say Dimitri's rash behaviour could topple a whole Kingdom and get hundreds of men killed; Rodrigue was very much aware of the fact.

'Indeed. Us adults must serve as guides to the young ones.' Rodrigue caught himself and laughed. 'Listen to me speak. You're not much older than His Highness, are you?' 

Byleth shrugged. 'A few years.' 

'But he listens to you.' 

'My lord--' 

Rodrigue stopped walking and turned to face Byleth, who tried to look politely curious instead of worried. 

'That's why I'm leaving the prince--the future of Faerghus--in your capable hands, professor.'

'Is this a marriage agreement, my lord?' said Byleth. 

Rodrigue gave him a blank look before laughing so loudly Byleth thought Fraldarius soldiers would come rushing to their lord's aid. 

'I doubt His Highness would object,' said Rodrigue, wiping tears from his eyes. 'But he doesn't need an old man to do his courting for him.' 

Byleth smiled. 'He could use a few pointers.' 

'Thank you for listening to my rambling.' Rodrigue gave Byleth's back a hearty thump as they circled back to where the troops had set up tents. 'I'm glad you chose the Blue Lion house five years ago, professor.' 

Even from far away, Byleth could see Dimitri standing at the edge of the camp. The light from the campfire got caught in his hair and threw his face into shadows. 

'So am I,' said Byleth.

*

Someone was following Byleth. This wasn't unusual in a busy camp: Byleth was a decision-making figure and while Alois took care of issues directly concerning the Knights of Seiros, the upkeep of a thousand-strong army involved a great number of details that fell on Byleth's uncertain purview. Dimitri's habit of overruling Byleth's decisions made the chain of command a murky issue, but most of the soldiers preferred to consult Byleth when it came to boring logistics. 

The person following him back to his tent took care to muffle their footsteps and hide in the shadows--not the actions of a soldier wanting to ask about horse feed. Byleth reached for his dagger but paused without unsheathing his blade when he caught the scent of crushed woodruff. 

'You've worked on your stealth skills,' he said. 

'Comes from spending the last five years as a fugitive,' said Dimitri. 'You've seen Rodrigue's army. You know we can take Enbarr.' 

'I know nothing of the sort.' 

Dimitri stood so close Byleth could feel Dimitri's breath against his ear. 'Delay might cost Lady Rhea her life, professor. Or is that your plan all along?' 

Dimitri caught Byleth's fist before it could connect with his face. 

'Fuck you,' said Byleth, trying to pull himself free. 

'Do you want to?' Dimitri laughed, but he let Byleth go easily enough--which was good because Byleth was ready to knee him in the groin if he hadn't. 'It's not like you to be overly cautious.' 

'Someone has to be,' said Byleth. He noticed a handful of soldiers and various camp helpers ogling instead of minding their business, so he gestured inside his tent. The War Council knew of the tension between their respective leaders, but Byleth reckoned there was no need for the whole army to see him bicker with Dimitri. 'Heading straight for Enbarr opens us to possible attacks from the Dukedom _and_ Imperial supporters from Leicester--'

'Right,' said Dimitri. He let the tent flap fall behind him with the unsatisfied look of a man who wished he had doors to slam. 'Let's say we head for Fhirdiad and lose half our men. What then? With our finite resources we should strike hard and fast, while we still have the element of surprise.' 

Byleth's tent was the largest one in the camp and doubled as a meeting place; most of the space was taken up by a table spread with various large-scale maps. Wooden tokens marked the troops and fortresses spread across the land. Annette had placed a couple of lightstones on one end of the table to serve as a light source--the magically charged gems were expensive but safer and brighter than candles. 

Byleth glared at the map of Northern Faerghus and moved a couple of tokens from Fraldarius to Garreg Mach. He didn't like how the move spread the Kingdom forces thinly across Fòdlan--Gautier was doing his best supporting Fraldarius in their resistance of the Dukedom, but he also had to keep an eye on the neighbouring Sreng. 

'Resources won't be a problem if we take Fhirdiad first.' 

'Cichol's balls.' Dimitri slammed a fist against the table and toppled half the troops in Arianrhod. 'Must you be so bullheaded?' 

Byleth crossed his arms. 'It can't be just one of us.' 

Dimitri swore again and stepped forward so he could loom over Byleth. Dimitri had grown even taller in the last five years; the top of Byleth's head barely reached the tip of his nose. 

'We're marching for Myrddin next,' said Dimitri.

'You can pull rank on me,' said Byleth. 'But I swear on Cichol's tits I'll stop each soldier one by one myself if I find this venture too risky.' 

'You could try.' Dimitri leaned down to press his lips against Byleth's. 

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' 

'Changing the subject,' said Dimitri. He pulled Byleth close, letting Byleth feel how hard he was. 

'Don't,' said Byleth, as Dimitri started licking at the inside of his ear.

'You want to as much as I do.'

Byleth sighed, moving so his cock was pressing more comfortably against Dimitri's thigh. 'I have to ride tomorrow.'

Dimitri's lips twisted into a smile. 'Then use your mouth.' 

At some point in the half-decade Byleth had been asleep, the sweet and thoughtful Dimitri had become this selfish and annoying man. He was used to being obeyed, of course--as the crown prince, he was allowed a level of arrogance which he'd tempered with kindness in his youth. This Dimitri couldn't be bothered, but Byleth found himself getting caught up in Dimitri's demands anyway. 

Maybe it was the lonely figure Dimitri had cut, covered in blood and muck and hunched in the alcove of the goddess tower. Or the self-loathing that warred with the madness in his one pale eye. No matter their reason, people had a hard time saying no to Dimitri. And they didn't even have to deal with the raw force of his lust. 

Byleth pressed a fist against his mouth as Dimitri tore at his clothes. Dimitri was fucking _everywhere_ : pulling at Byleth's hair, rubbing his hard thigh against Byleth's straining cock, squeezing Byleth's ass before pulling Byleth's fist away to kiss him again on the mouth. Dimitri didn't so much kiss as leave his mark all over Byleth's body: licking and sucking and biting and making sure Byleth would avoid the public baths and the sauna for the next few days. 

Byleth felt the edge of the table dig against his hip as Dimitri leaned down to sweep his arm across the table, clearing it of maps, markers, and the lightstones. The whole lot rustled and clattered their way to the ground, catching the attention of the Knight posted near Byleth's tent. Alois had insisted on the guard detail despite Byleth's protests; the idea of a mercenary having his own guards was laughable. They'd reached an uneasy compromise by having the Knights stand at a distance that allowed for privacy but close enough for them to catch--if not apprehend--whoever wished to slit Byleth's throat. 

'Your Grace?' the Knight called out. 'Everything all right?'

'It's fine,' said Dimitri, lowering himself on top of Byleth onto the table. 'Go back to your post.'

'Yes, sir,' said the Knight, sounding unsure. 'Is that Your Highness?' 

'I'll handle this,' said Byleth, placing a hand on top of Dimitri's mouth. 'Thank you, Cillian.'

'Of course.' The joy in Cillian's voice was obvious. The Knights usually expressed surprise when they found out Byleth had memorised their names. It was a trick he'd learned from Jeralt: the personal touch built rapport with his men but served to unnerve the troublemakers. 'Good night, Your Grace.' 

'They're beginning to love you as much as they love Lady Rhea,' said Dimitri, in between biting and sucking on Byleth's fingers. 

'She respects them.'

Dimitri snorted. His free hand travelled lower, fumbling with the buttons of Byleth's trousers. 'No one will see you like this but me.' 

Byleth gasped as Dimitri's fingertips made circular motions against the sensitive skin of his cock, the feather-light pressure a counterpoint to the roughness of Dimitri's callused hands. Byleth tried to get Dimitri into wrapping a hand around his cock, rocking against Dimitri's body for any kind of friction, but Dimitri pulled back with a soundless laugh. 

'No one's touched you for half a decade,' he said. 'Right, professor?' 

Byleth pulled at Dimitri's hair. 'And you?' 

'I had neither time nor inclination to fuck my way across Faerghus,' said Dimitri. He was still smiling, but neither of them thought the joke was funny. While there was nothing Byleth could do about how the last five years had treated Dimitri, he wished life had been kinder to the prince. 'Don't worry, I did come prepared.' 

Between the lightstones getting buried under some maps and Byleth's lust-hazed eyesight, he had a hard time focusing on the small vial Dimitri had taken out of his pocket. 

'I told you--' said Byleth. 

'I know.' Dimitri poured some of the vial's contents onto his fingers, rubbing it onto his skin until both of his hands glistened in the dim light. 

'Dimitri--'

Dimitri's lubricated fingers felt cold as they rubbed against the walls of Byleth's asshole. Byleth wondered if Dimitri had planned this before heading for Byleth's tent, if he would let Dimitri fuck him after all. Byleth would suffer on his saddle the next day, but the thought of Dimitri's thick cock churning his insides made him buck his hips, rubbing himself against Dimitri's crotch and whimpering against Dimitri's mouth. 

'You'll have to beg for that, professor,' said Dimitri, close to Byleth's ear. 

Dimitri's fingers were long and thick and he knew just where to press, the spot that made Byleth feel a hot molten buzz from his pelvis to the tips of his toes-- 

'Dimitri.' But it wasn't enough. He wanted to feel Dimitri forcing him open, wanted a hot big cock to replace the two fingers moving inside him. Byleth had been happily pleasuring himself whenever the need arose, but it didn't compare to the real thing. 'Fuck me. I want you inside me.'

Dimitri smiled and straightened up, leaving Byleth panting by himself on top of the table. 

'Hey.' Byleth rested his weight on his elbows and glared at Dimitri. 'What the fuck?'

He watched the asshole prince pull up the crate Byleth had been using for a seat, unbutton his trousers, and sit down with his cock exposed and invitingly erect. 'Come on then. Ride me.' 

Byleth tried to consider his options, but half a decade and several months had passed since he'd last slept with Dimitri: he felt he was allowed to make one bad decision. Chucking off his trousers, he ignored the logical part of his brain that told him he'd been letting Dimitri get away with more than he should since the war started. 

'What are you doing?' said Dimitri, as Byleth got back on shaky feet. 

'The lightstones.' Covered by maps, the light they gave off was dim and uneven, but still enough to throw Byleth and Dimitri's shadows through the canvas walls of the tent. 

'Leave it,' said Dimitri. 'I want to see you.'

Byleth opened his mouth to argue but he was drunk and more than a little horny, and Dimitri's eye was dark with answering lust. He accepted the vial as he moved to straddle Dimitri. 

*

iii. Azure Moon, Lone Moon 

The Great Bridge of Myrddin was more of a fortress that extended across the Airmid River than a simple bridge. It connected the lands of Gloucester with Gronder Field and had been built right after the Alliance broke off from Faerghus. Despite Byleth's misgivings, he'd plotted the advance of their allied forces to hug the skirts of the Oghma Mountains onwards to Myrddin. The route was approved by the War Council, seeing as how striking from the West--while a more direct path--meant having the traitorous Kingdom lords who'd allied with Adrestia at their backs. The Leicester territories were a different animal entirely, but at least Claude's influence kept the Alliance from toppling into Adrestia's lap.

'According to the merchants we'd talked to, there are Imperial forces stationed at the Bridge,' said Ashe, as the army stopped and waited for Ingrid and Constance to return from their reconnaissance. 

Sylvain's horse whinnied impatiently and he leaned down to stroke her dappled neck. 'Gloucester was quick to show his support, of course. His lands are first in the line of fire once Adrestia marches to conquer.' 

'I wonder if Lorenz would be there,' said Mercedes. 'It's not easy seeing familiar faces on the battlefield.' 

'If you don't want to see familiar faces,' said Dimitri, glaring at the cloudless blue sky. 'Don't look before you kill.' 

'Sound advice,' said Felix, from behind. He grinned when Byleth glared at him. 'It's true.' 

'Take care not to anger a healer,' said Byleth. He might have said more, but their pegasus riders had returned and both were looking worried. To be fair, Constance always looked like she was attending a loved one's funeral whenever she had to go out in the sun, but Ingrid looked to be deep in thought as well. 

'General Ladislava is holding the bridge,' said Ingrid, guiding her pegasus down to stand next to Byleth. 'We also saw mages wearing Gloucester's colours standing guard by the parapets.' 

'We have reason to believe Acheron might be pressed to send help as well,' said Constance. 'Their individual forces might not be troubling for people such as yourselves, but together--' she let her voice trail off. 

'Doesn't matter,' said Dimitri. 'One or a hundred, I'll kill them all.' 

'There's no need for that,' said Byleth. 'Don't forget you're going out there with an army at your back.' 

'The same army you tried to keep from marching?' Dimitri urged his horse closer to Byleth so he could lower his voice. 

'I'm not going to let people die in some mad quest,' said Byleth. He knew he'd draw more attention to their argument if he refused to back down, but he was damned if he'd let Dimitri get himself killed for revenge. 

'The people responsible for so much death and suffering are still alive. Can you truly sleep at night, knowing they continue to commit their evil deeds?' said Dimitri. 'When that woman killed your father, didn't you pick up your sword to avenge his death?' 

Dimitri throwing the circumstances of Jeralt's death back at Byleth's face after his comforting show of support stung. Byleth glared at him. 'Right.' 

'See?' Dimitri smiled. 'We're the same, you and I.' 

If only the bastard wasn't so pretty. Byleth adjusted himself on the saddle. 

'Forget it,' said Felix. 'There's no point in talking to a wild boar that's lost its mind.' He turned to Dimitri. 'We're not marching against the Empire simply on your say-so. We all have our reasons to fight, don't you agree?'

Surprised at how Felix had drawn him back into the conversation, Byleth tried to get his thoughts in order.

'People are looking to the future,' he said. 'Not the past.' 

'Exactly,' said Felix. 'What's the point dwelling on the things you can't change?' 

'Then tell me,' said Dimitri. 'If the past matters so little, why bother honouring the memories of the dead?'

Felix shook his head and sighed. 'There's no getting through you.' 

'Hey,' said Caspar, who had been hovering nearby with a bored expression on his face. 'Someone's approaching.' 

'Which side?' said Byleth, moving closer to Dimitri. On his other side, Felix did the same. 

'The Oghma Mountains,' said Caspar, eyes widening in surprise.

*

Byleth gave up trying to keep the troops in order as his former students broke formation to run back and meet Dedue. He caught Dedue's eyes as he went to join them, smiling at the combined surprise and joy in Dedue's face at being surrounded by a crowd of people all trying loudly not to cry. 

'Your Highness,' said Dedue. 'Would you permit me to fight for you again?' 

Dimitri mouthed Dedue's name, his face for once unguarded. 'How did you survive?' 

'My brothers from Duscur helped me.' Dedue turned to Byleth. 'Do you remember? The men we helped all those years ago.' 

'We missed you,' said Byleth, giving the man a pat on the shoulder. He would have thumped Dedue on the back except he might hit Annette and Ashe, who were both holding Dedue close. 'Are you sure you're well enough to join us?'

'Of course. I had long to recuperate.' Dedue bowed. 'If you would pardon the delay, Your Highness. I would like to serve as your sword and shield once more.' 

'On one condition,' said Dimitri. Stripped of anger, his voice betrayed a relieved and muted happiness: Dimitri sounded like the young man that he was. 'Don't throw your life away like that. Not even for me.'

Dedue bowed again. Byleth could swear the man was glowing. 'Yes, Your Highness.' 

*

Byleth leaned forward until the cold rough stones of the parapet wall pressed against his forehead. In the courtyard below, the allied forces of Faerghus and the Church raised their flags in victory. The knights had found casks of beer in the storage rooms of Myrddin, along with enough provisions for a month--all compliments of Duke Gloucester--and a celebration of sorts went underway as the army realised they might have a chance of winning the war after all. 

Dedue had taken one look at Byleth's face and had reluctantly handed him an unopened bottle of rum. It stood half-empty next to Byleth's feet as he tried to decide if he was going to throw up or not. 

'Those fools, choosing to die for that woman,' said Dimitri. Byleth hadn't heard him approach but he was past caring. 'Utterly foolish.'

Byleth turned away from his new friend, the parapet wall, and fumbled for the rum. His head swam, as if the inside of his body was made of water that sloshed back and forth with every move. Whenever he closed his eyes he could see Lorenz falling from his horse as Byleth stabbed him through the heart. 

'Aren't you happy we won?' said Byleth. 

'Who knows,' said Dimitri, turning away. 'I had to kill them and so I did. That's the reality of war.' 

Byleth considered calling Dimitri out on his lie, but perhaps there was no harm in a lie told to give comfort. He drank a lot of rum before offering Dimitri the bottle.

Dimitri looked like he was going to refuse, so Byleth said, 'Just like our first mission together.'

'Don't get nostalgic on me.' Dimitri accepted the bottle and took a cautious sip. 'Still too sweet.' 

'There you are,' said Rodrigue. 'Your Highness, Your Grace, the War Council requests your presence.' 

Byleth ran his tongue over his teeth. 'If the War Council would provide me with a nice cold drink of water.'

Rodrigue laughed. 'But of course.' He offered Byleth his arm, which Byleth took despite Dimitri's glare. 'This won't take long, but the Council needs to decide what to do about Myrddin. A platoon would have to stay here when we move forward, of course.' 

'And the prisoners?' said Byleth. There was a handful of traders and travellers who had stopped by the Great Bridge when the army attacked. They'd been asked to stay in what looked to be the General's study until Alois could confirm none of them were spies. 

'None of them seemed to be lying about their identities,' said Rodrigue. 'They're having dinner with Alois and some of the Knights.' 

'Good,' said Byleth. He thought he heard Dimitri say something, but the sounds of an argument drowned him out. 'What's that?' 

'My lords.' One of the Kingdom knights gave them a bow. 'We're just trying to send this girl back home.'

'Please, I don't have a family to return to.' The girl in question was probably of age to attend Officers Academy if it still existed. Something about her--the expression on her face or her carefully neutral accent--made Byleth uneasy, but he was also drunk and couldn't fully trust his senses. 'I can cook and I'm good with horses.'

'We're not running a school here, miss,' said another knight. 'Why would you want to join the army?'

'To avenge my family,' she said, flatly. 

'What do you think, Your Highness?' said Rodrigue. 

'Do what you will.' Dimitri walked past them without looking at the girl. 

But Byleth did. She seemed familiar, but he used to be a mercenary; he had met a lot of people on the job and seldom made an effort to remember any of them unless they were really famous or strange. The girl was neither of those and he decided he'd worry about it later. 

With a nod at the new girl and the knights, he moved on with Rodrigue. 

*

iv. Silver Snow, Lone Moon

The Knights of Seiros had raised their new banner from the parapets of the Great Bridge as a symbol of their victory. It flapped gently in the wind, the Crest of Flames in reddish gold thread on a black field. They marched under Byleth's Crest and his banner, but even now he wondered if he was the kind of man who could lead and inspire armies to triumph. 

'To think we succeeded in taking Myrddin,' said Seteth, who seemed confident enough for the both of them. 'This places us at a tactical advantage, but one we must take care to protect. You don't object to us leaving some of our troops here?' 

'Not at all,' said Byleth. 'We have control of the bridge; some of the Leicester lords would consider allying with our forces soon enough.'

'What a pity we had to go against Gloucester,' said Ferdinand, looking at his boots. 'But this does ease the pressure against Deirdru. I think we have a good chance of getting an audience with Claude.' 

'All of them died in the service of the Empire.' Seteth rubbed at his neatly trimmed beard. 'You have to wonder what kind of ruler Edelgard has become, for her subjects to be so loyal.' 

'And yet they still died,' said Ferdinand. 'If she'd asked for my opinion, I'd have told her this is not the way to effect change.' 

Byleth allowed himself a small smile. Hubert hadn't thought much of Ferdinand's intellect, but Byleth thought the young noble was seldom wrong. Naive and very pompous perhaps, but never far off the mark. 'She should have listened to her friends more.' 

'My lords.' Cillian stopped a few paces from Byleth and bowed. 'Sir Gilbert is here and asking for an audience.' 

'Sir Gilbert?' said Seteth. 'We haven't heard from him in five years, but it's good to know he's alive.'

'Please send him here, Cillian,' said Byleth. 

'We have received word that the Knights of Seiros have taken over Myrddin,' said Gilbert, giving them a bow. 'Congratulations are in order.' 

'Praise is unnecessary,' said Seteth, holding out his hand. 'We're glad to see you once more, Sir Gilbert. What brings you here?' 

'I have returned to the service of the House of Blaiddyd,' said Gilbert. 

Dimitri, the final scion of House Blaiddyd, had been executed for the murder of the Regent five years ago. Byleth looked up. 'That means--'

'His Highness, Prince Dimitri is still alive, yes,' said Gilbert. 'He's been biding his time in Fraldarius, but our informants tell us Alliance and Imperial troops had been mobilised for Gronder Field.' 

'Is that so?' said Byleth. He could feel Seteth's probing eyes on his face, but unfortunately for Seteth, Byleth wasn't called the Ashen Demon for nothing. 

'His Highness sent me here to ask for assistance,' said Gilbert. 'Barring that, safe passage across the bridge would suffice.' 

'We suffered great losses taking Myrddin from Adrestian control,' Seteth began. 

'Can Dimitri wait?' said Byleth. He already knew what Gilbert would say, but he had to ask. 

'I'm afraid we don't have that option,' said Gilbert. 

'We can allow you safe passage, but we'd be spreading our forces too thin if we march to Gronder Field with you.' Seteth sighed. To his credit, he did look like he regretted not being able to help Faerghus. Byleth knew the Church and the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus had strong ties, but he was realising what this truly meant in times of political unrest. 'I'm sorry, but if the prince could wait a few months that would be ideal.' 

'It is indeed unfortunate,' said Gilbert. 'But not having to worry about enemy attacks on the way to Gronder Field is plenty. This is perhaps our final battle.' 

'Why fight at all?' said Byleth. He didn't bother to hide his anger; Gilbert wasn't at fault but he could relay Byleth's reaction to those who'd made this harebrained decision. 

'He said you'd say that,' said Gilbert, with a small smile. 'He asked to tell you he's sorry.'

Byleth let out a rush of breath that could be taken for a snort. 

'Well then, I wish you luck in your endeavours.' Gilbert gave them another bow. 

'Let me accompany you,' said Seteth. 'And perhaps some refreshment before you leave?' 

'You must join us for tea, Sir Gilbert,' said Ferdinand, galvanised by the thought of his favourite pastime. 'We might not be able to march with you, but we can exchange valuable information.' 

Byleth followed behind, wondering how they could remain so calm knowing they were letting Dimitri march to his death. 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I started on a new job and there's a lot of new job jitters, so I didn't get to finish writing chapter 11 even in the two weeks I gave myself. Uuuuuh. Things might get rough on the updates later on, but hey I only need 3 more chapters??


	10. War: Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Dimitri meet again in Tailtean Plains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Silver Snow and Crimson Flower routes deaths.

i. Azure Moon, Great Tree Moon 

In answer to the loss of Myrddin, the Adrestian army moved to strengthen the defence of Fort Merceus--an exercise in lighting torches in broad daylight, Byleth thought, considering how Merceus built its reputation as Adrestia's impregnable fortress. 

'They call the place the Stubborn Old General,' said Ashe, gesturing southwest. 'He's waiting for us, once we get past Gronder Field.' He shook his head. ' _If_ we get past Gronder Field. This war seems to be one thing after another.' 

'That's why we call it a campaign.' Byleth poured Ashe another cup of mint tea. Having tea outside in the tail end of winter would have been impossible in Faerghus, but the weather south of Fòdlan was a lot more reasonable, especially if one wore a thick coat. Byleth found the merlons that formed the battlements of Myrddin perfect for supporting tea implements and edibles.

'I grew up running around the streets of Merceus, you know,' said Caspar, rubbing at his temples. 'What are the chances of my father and brother being there?' 

'I'll make arrangements for your funeral,' said Byleth, biting into a gingerbread biscuit Dedue had baked earlier. 

'That's not funny at all, professor,' said Caspar, although he was smiling. 

'I don't think I've ever been inside.' Byleth picked up his quill and started scribbling on his notebook, scattering crumbs all over. 

'You don't think?' 

'Certain events make it so I don't remember my life as a child.' The truth was, Byleth barely remembered his life before he and Jeralt had gone back to Garreg Mach. He reckoned his inability to recall his own past had something to do with Sothis, but it was the kind of information that made people uneasy so he learned to lie instead. 

'I'm sorry to hear that,' said Ashe. 

'Don't be,' said Byleth, handing his notebook to Caspar. 'It's nothing like what Dimitri had gone through. Can you help me draft a map of Merceus, Caspar?' 

Caspar took to the task with enthusiasm if not skill, sketching out details about the workings of the fortress only a true local would know. Byleth finished off the biscuits and wondered if they'd need the map at all or if the allied Kingdom forces would fall in Gronder Field. 

*

Once their scouts had come back with news and information about the enemy troops marching for Gronder, the War Council had to sit down and admit their forces weren't enough to face both Adrestian and Leicester armies. They needed more troops if they didn't want to die before getting anywhere close to Enbarr. 

Because he was acting as the Archbishop and grace was a requirement, Byleth kept his mouth shut. But he did give Dimitri a small smile when their eyes met. 

'Do you even think we'll win?' Felix let out an impatient rush of breath when Dimitri remained silent. 'If we fall, Boar Prince, we would have died for you. Pardon me if I think we deserve more than your sullenness.' 

'There are lords from Faerghus who have yet to swear their loyalty,' said Gilbert. 

'I'm sorry,' said Ingrid, looking down at her hands. 'Galatea could not be of much help.' 

Galatea was a branch of House Daphnel that broke off to ally with Faerghus. The separation came at a price for both parties: Galatea's bloodline carried the Crest of Daphnel, the loss of which made House Daphnel fall out of favour with the Alliance lords. In turn, Galatea's lands were harsh and unsuited for agriculture, and famine was not unknown in their region. 

'Lord Galatea has his hands full keeping the borders safe,' said Byleth, tapping at the table with the tips of his nails. 'That you're here and fighting with us is more than enough.' 

There was a murmur of agreement, especially from delegates from Northern Faerghus. 

'I guess my old man will finally have to step up,' said Catherine. 'The Knights have been kind to me; I think I can convince him to help out.' 

Sylvain held out a hand. 'What if he asks for your return?'

'Charon already has an heir.' Catherine lifted her chin. The moments when she betrayed her noble origins were few and far between, but in her imperious manner Byleth could see a woman who'd grown up being obeyed. Byleth had always wondered if she was ashamed of her bloodline; she flaunted her command of Thunderbrand but had dropped the name she'd been born with in favour of a simple Catherine. 

'But not one with a Crest,' Sylvain pointed out. 'Additional troops are important, but we're stronger with the wielder of Thunderbrand in our ranks.'

'Right,' said Byleth. 'Shamir?' 

'Yes.' Shamir detached herself from the shadows behind Catherine. The Knights who hadn't noticed she was standing beside them yelped in surprise. 

'If you would accompany Sir Catherine to Charon,' said Byleth. 'Please make sure she comes back to us.' 

Shamir gave him a smile while Catherine sputtered angrily in the background. 'Of course.'

'Would my lords also consider allying with Leicester?' said Gilbert. 'House Riegan has been careful to maintain a neutral stance so far.'

'But the pressure against Gloucester eases now that we hold Myrddin,' said Seteth, with a nod. 'I don't think it would be amiss to send a messenger to House Riegan. What do you say, Your Grace?' 

'I agree,' said Byleth. 'But we must remain cautious.'

'Indeed,' said Gilbert. 'Their forces march towards us as we speak. We need to stay alert.' 

'And make your peace before you go,' said Dimitri, glaring at Byleth. 'In the battlefield, you kill or get killed.' 

*

The towers supporting the Great Bridge comprised the barracks and storage areas for weapons and supplies. Most of the army still had to set up camp in the surrounding area, but the commanding officers laid claim to the sleeping quarters inside the building. They slept two to a room and there were times when Byleth, who had to share with Alois, missed his personal quarters back at Garreg Mach.

He was used to sharing his space with Jeralt and his group of mercenaries, but Byleth's needs were simpler back then. Had he wanted some privacy, all he needed was to go outside and sleep under the stars. Unfortunately, he could hardly take Dimitri to Gronder Field for a quick fuck--Byleth was more worried about Dimitri's safety than propriety, but neither was he keen on being known as the Archbishop who got caught sucking cock in public. 

But Byleth hadn't led the capture of Myrddin just to let a group of nosy soldiers get the better of him. If he was quick about it, he could pop in and out of Dimitri's room while Dedue was out helping at the kitchens with Ashe. 

Which was how he ended up kneeling by the side of Dimitri's bed, with a mouthful of cock right before dinner. 

Byleth gagged as Dimitri's grip on the back of his head tightened, pulling him closer. He pinched Dimitri's inner thigh and heard him laugh as he let Byleth go. 

'We don't have all day, professor.' 

Byleth took a deep breath, willing himself to relax and let Dimitri's cock press into the back of his throat. He savoured the feeling of fullness, working his throat and making Dimitri gasp. He could smell Dimitri, his sweat and the fresh-hay scent of crushed woodruff--Byleth knew Dimitri kept sachets of them in his closets and chests, a habit he'd picked up from his wet nurse. Little details that made Byleth think he hadn't lost Dimitri entirely. 

'Professor,' said Dimitri, choking on the final syllable. 

Byleth hummed, knowing Dimitri would feel his throat vibrate, and smiled as Dimitri gasped again. 

'Come,' said Byleth, around Dimitri's cock. He looked up as Dimitri did as commanded, trying to burn the memory of Dimitri's face in his mind. Dimitri had turned pink, sweat-slick hair sticking to his face, and he bit his lower lip to keep from crying out loud.

Surrounded by familiar faces who held him with wary respect--and sometimes grudging affection--Dimitri thawed like snow in the Oghma mountaintops come spring: unnoticeable unless one had wintered there and could compare the gradual change, but thawed nonetheless. Dimitri liked Byleth no more than he did upon their reunion but, as months passed and he started picking up his old habits, he obviously saw no reason to keep himself from fucking Byleth when both of them were willing. 

Dedue's return served to ground Dimitri further, his peers and his liegemen settling around him as he reclaimed what he had lost in his five years of exile: he was their prince and he had come back. But he also kept his own counsel. There were plenty of things he would not share even with Dedue, who'd told Byleth over tea and biscuits how Dimitri continued to keep him at a distance. Much like how neither of them had seen Dimitri's face without the eyepatch, neither Byleth nor Dedue had seen this older Dimitri lower his guard completely. 

Which was why Byleth cherished the moments when Dimitri allowed himself to be vulnerable: there was an element of surrender involved when sucking cock, for both the giver and receiver. Having Dimitri deep in his throat felt much the same as Dimitri's large hands squeezing his neck, but Byleth didn't mind--he rather liked the sensation, just like he enjoyed his view of Dimitri's face, helpless and undone at the release of his lust. 

Byleth didn't love the texture of come, but it would stop being a problem the quicker he swallowed so he did. Dimitri pulled him up, kissing him, licking off what was left in his mouth. 

'Your turn,' said Dimitri.

There was a knock at the door and Byleth bit back a curse. 

'What?' Dimitri's tone dared the person on the other side of the door to speak of anything less than an emergency. 

'Your Highness.' A knight from Faerghus--her voice was unfamiliar and Byleth assumed she'd come with the troops from Charon. She dissembled quickly for someone unused to the prince's moods; Byleth barely heard her stammer at Dimitri's obvious displeasure. 'Lord Rodrigue begs for your presence outside.'

'Did he say why?' 

'The messenger we sent to Leicester, Your Highness.' 

Byleth slid off Dimitri's lap with a sigh. 'That doesn't sound like good news.' 

Dimitri grunted in reply, buttoning his trousers closed as he headed for the door. 

'Where's Rodrigue?' 

'I will lead the way--' said the knight.

'You'll go and fetch the Archbishop,' said Dimitri, with a smile. 'Tell me where Rodrigue is.' 

Byleth listened as the knight gave Dimitri directions to a white willow that grew in the rocky riverbank south of Myrddin. 

'The fuck is Fraldarius playing at,' said Byleth, picking up the Sword of the Creator where he had placed it on Dimitri's desk. 'Must we meet in such secrecy?' 

'You tell me,' said Dimitri. 'That's your speciality, isn't it?' 

Byleth clipped his sword onto his belt. 'You got rid of her cleverly enough,' he said, speaking of the poor knight who'd just left in a fruitless search for the Archbishop. 'You're learning.' 

Dimitri snorted and left the room. Byleth waited until a few minutes had passed, guessing the time on the melted wax of the candles burning on Dimitri's desk, before heading for Rodrigue's meeting place. The rocky bank with the white willow was only a ten-minute walk from the barracks and Byleth saw Caspar at once--he and Seteth took turns scouting the area around Myrddin on their wyverns. Byleth's frown deepened. 

'What's the problem?' he called out, hurrying to join the group gathered near the great tree. 

'Leicester does not want to make deals,' said Yuris. 'You may join us if you want, but the view's not that great, professor.' 

Byleth stood next to Gilbert. Under the soft moonlight, the old man's worried countenance took on ten more years. 

'What happened?' said Byleth. 

'I saw him on my way back to the barracks,' said Caspar, pointing with his chin at the foot of the willow tree. 

Half-hidden among the drooping branches, with his feet touching the waters of Airmid River, the messenger they'd sent to negotiate with Claude lay on his back. In fact, Byleth couldn't tell if it was the same man, as someone had carefully peeled the skin off his face, but he wore the colours or House Fraldarius and no one else was missing from their numbers. Manuela was kneeling next to the corpse, examining him gently with the tip of her healing staff. 

'My lords, this was in his pocket,' she said, holding out a seal with the Crest of Blaiddyd, which Gilbert took with shaking hands. 

'No doubt this was our man,' he said. Their messenger had left carrying Dimitri's seal to prove the Kingdom's sincerity. 'That they left him like this is answer enough.' He sighed. 'But this is a more cruel sight than I've seen in my years of battle.' 

Dimitri, who had probably seen worse in Duscur, let out a rush of breath but remained silent.

'This doesn't look like something Claude would do,' said Byleth, holding out his hand to help Manuela stand up. 

'My thoughts exactly,' said Yuris. 'Obvious and cruel is not his style.' 

'Be that as it may, their troops march ever closer and we can't afford to send another messenger,' said Rodrigue. He looked angry, but that was understandable since it was his man who'd died. 'We'd have to take this at face value for the moment.' 

'I never reckoned on marching as an ally of Leicester,' said Dimitri. 'This changes nothing.' 

'True enough.' Yuris gave Byleth a sideways glance. 'Good thing none of our strategies hinges on Leicester's help.' 

Byleth smiled. 'Not the ones that matter, anyway.' 

He thought of facing more familiar faces in Gronder Field and decided to eat and drink his fill that night. 

*

ii. Silver Snow, Harpstring Moon

Byleth knew of the logistics of war from his father. Jeralt's band of mercenaries numbered few compared to the growing might of the Church army, but Jeralt's meticulous record-keeping had taught Byleth how to keep track of resources and supplies for the upkeep of military forces. 

Such skills served him well now, for which he was grateful. He couldn't offer the Knights of Seiros religious support, but he could at least lead an army. 

He was planning the outfitting of the new troops from Charon with Seteth and Alois when the messenger from Gronder stumbled into the entrance hall. 

'My lords!' The man tried to pull himself together under Seteth's quelling glare. 'I bear news from Gronder Field, my lords.' 

'Don't you see we are busy?' said Seteth. 'Nevermind, what do you have to tell us?' 

'All three forces suffered great losses, my lord,' said the messenger. 'No one knows of Duke Riegan's location, although it seems he survived. The Emperor sustained grievous wounds and is heading back to Enbarr as we speak.' 

'And Dimitri?' said Byleth. 

'Dead, Your Grace,' said the messenger. 'From what I heard tell, he sought to follow the wounded Emperor to finish the job but fell to her soldiers' spears instead. They said it took ten men to bring him down, the way he'd fought.' 

Byleth felt Alois's steadying hand on the small of his back and gave Alois a nod. 

'Thank you,' said Byleth, to the messenger. 'The War Council would need you to give a more detailed account later, but first you must rest and get some food.'

The messenger bowed himself away and Byleth wished he could do the same. 

'This is dire news indeed,' said Alois, shaking his head. 'To think the prince would fall in Gronder.' 

We let him, Byleth thought but didn't say. He knew Seteth had made the right call in Myrddin, but all the logic in the world couldn't stop Byleth from feeling responsible anyway. 

'Indeed,' said Seteth. 'But we can't let him die for nought. Adrestia's losses are our gain and we would do well to adjust our strategies accordingly.' 

'An alliance with the remaining forces from Faerghus and Leicester might be in order,' said Alois. 'We are all fighting for the same cause.' 

'You would, of course, stand as our leader?' Seteth looked at Byleth like he was examining a wyvern to buy for his stables. 

'Hm,' said Byleth, only half-listening to Seteth's words.

'With Edelgard back in Enbarr and the Adrestian forces depleted, we are at an unexpected advantage,' Seteth pointed out. 'We must make our move soon.' 

'We need to choose where to strike next,' said Byleth. 

'And we can do that better with some food and mulled wine in our stomachs,' said Alois, patting Byleth's arm none too gently. 'My lord Seteth would agree to a short break?' 

'Of course,' said Seteth. 'I've been remiss. Flayn has promised to have dinner with me this evening. By your leave, Your Grace?'

Byleth waved Seteth off, watching him hurry across the length of the entrance hall before turning back to Alois.

'I'll be seeing you later then, lad,' said Alois. 'Mourn however you need to, but remember I'm here if you need to talk.'

Byleth shouldn't have been surprised; Alois wasn't going to be remembered for his clever tactics, but he was a kind man and quite astute when emotions were involved. 

'Thank you,' he said to Alois's retreating back. He thought Alois wouldn't hear him, but Alois raised his hand in salute without turning around. 

*

Fòdlan was settling comfortably into spring and the winds that brought the sweet scent of wisteria felt warm on Byleth's skin. The cathedral courtyard teemed with life even at night, the rustling of nocturnal animals reminding Byleth he wasn't alone. But theirs was an easy and undemanding company and Byleth found comfort from the impersonal way his surroundings encompassed him. The garden and its inhabitants didn't care if he existed or not, but neither would they turn him away.

He turned around when he heard approaching footsteps. 

'It's been a while, professor.' 

Dimitri was a study in light and shadows. He had changed in the five years Byleth had spent sleeping; taller and worn into sharpness by care. His beauty had taken on a brittle quality. 

'I thought you were dead,' said Byleth, taking a step forward. 

'So did I,' said Dimitri. 'I meant for her to die at my hands, but my actions led to the deaths of my companions instead. Rodrigue, Gustave, Dedue.' He shook his head. 'Yet I'm still here.' 

'Then perhaps there's a reason for it.' Byleth reached out for the wisteria blossoms that clung to Dimitri's hair. Deep purple petals stark against Dimitri's pale hair, the colour of royalty, falling like small drops onto the wolf pelt that hung from his shoulders. 

'Rodrigue said the same,' said Dimitri. He leaned into Byleth's touch, letting Byleth cup his face with one hand. 'When I sought asylum in Fraldarius. But must other people keep paying for the cost of my life?' 

'Would you repay them by throwing it away?' said Byleth. 

Dimitri laughed. 'I've never been good at this. Everyone keeps saying things I don't understand.' 

Kingdom lords were not known for their cunning, this was true. Among them, Sylvain was the one who worried Byleth the most: he cared less for honour and fairness and would make for an unpredictable enemy. Dimitri's strength lay elsewhere and with it the risks taken by a man who gave no fucks about staying alive. 

'Hey, professor,' said Dimitri, wrapping his hand around Byleth's wrist. 'I wanted to discuss my options with someone.' 

'Options?' said Byleth. 

'The forces that marched with me were not enough to take back the capital, let alone fight against Adrestia,' said Dimitri. A cloud passed in front of the moon, distorting its soft light so the shadows of the trees extended like spears from Dimitri's back. 'And that's why I--' 

'There you are,' said Seteth. 

Byleth took care not to show surprise; old habits kicking in so he moved away from Dimitri without the awkward haste that would betray guilt. 

'The nights are warmer,' Seteth went on, 'but you should still take care of sleeping outside.' 

'Sleep?' Byleth turned back to Dimitri and saw nothing but the trees and their calm shadows. 'Where did he go?' 

'Who? There's no one here but me.' Something in Byleth's face must have made Seteth reconsider, because he added, 'A dream. Or a spirit perhaps, who wanted you to see their face.' 

Byleth looked at the wisteria blossoms in his hand. 

'If so, they must have meant to ask for your guidance,' said Seteth. 'Come, Your Grace. Flayn could make us some tea.' 

Byleth made his excuses and returned to his room, where he spent the rest of the night eluded by sleep.

*

'You look like a fright, professor.'

'We say "look a fright".' Byleth smiled as Petra's worried expression changed into confusion. 'I don't know what the difference is either.' 

'You need to take more rest if we mean to march to Fort Merceus soon,' said Petra, patting his shoulder. 'Be sure to have lunch.' 

Byleth gave her a formal bow, which made her laugh, before going back to patrolling the grounds. He met Ferdinand on his way to the marketplace and accepted Ferdinand's offer to accompany him there. 

'I hear Dimitri has fallen in the Battle of Gronder Field,' said Ferdinand, as they went down the great stairs that led to the markets. 

Byleth made a sound that could have been assent. 

'The late king of Faerghus; how he hated Adrestia and the Emperor. He never should have led an army when his judgement was clouded so.' Ferdinand shook his head at the foolishness of illogical kings, and for a moment Byleth felt an ugly hotness twist in his gut. 

He resisted the urge to slap the smug look off Ferdinand's face and said, 'Even kings are allowed to have emotions.' 

'True enough, but I suspect he died because he couldn't control his own--professor.' Ferdinand blinked at Byleth like a startled owl. 'I've never seen you this angry before.'

Byleth wondered what had betrayed his anger; he'd tried to keep his tone and expression as neutral as possible because the logical part of his brain agreed with Ferdinand. Jeralt had warned Byleth as much, back when they'd come in Remire's aid. But logic had no comfort for the way Dimitri's voice broke as he made his confession, his decision to attack despite knowing he was leading his men to their deaths. Military tactics cared nothing for the loneliness that seemed to flow through Dimitri in dark and terrible waves.

'Professor?' 

'Last night, I--' Byleth stopped. 'Perhaps I had a dream.' 

Ferdinand nodded. He was still a pompous noble, no matter the years since the dissolution of the House of Von Aegir, but underneath the gold brocade and expensive tea was a sympathetic man who was willing to listen to Byleth's talk of dreams. 

'I saw him,' said Byleth. 'He looked as real as you do now.' 

'A vision, perhaps?' Ferdinand rubbed at his chin. 'Quite unusual.' He gave Byleth a sideways glance and Byleth waited for him to spit out whatever he wanted to say. 'Is it true, what they say?'

Byleth had been expecting Ferdinand to ask about the amount of beer he'd drunk the night before. 'Depends on what they're saying.' 

'That he was your lover.' 

Byleth raised his chin at Ferdinand. 'What of it?' 

'He wished to speak to you, even after his death.' Ferdinand raised his hands, an elegant gesture Byleth was sure he'd practised in front of his mirror. 'That is important, yes?' 

Byleth hadn't thought of it that way. He pushed past Ferdinand to lean against the balustrade. 'It was a long time ago and it didn't last long.' 

'Through no fault of yours.' Ferdinand went to stand next to Byleth, keeping a respectful distance. 'Or his.' 

'No.' Byleth could feel Ferdinand's gaze, but they had a perfect view of the fishing pond from where they stood and Byleth looked at that instead. Linhardt was sitting with Ashe by the docks, holding a fishing rod and nodding as Ashe read aloud from a book. 

'I cannot hate the land that made me who I am, professor,' said Ferdinand. His voice wasn't pitched to carry and even people who loved him would say this was unusual: he tended to share information about himself like he was proclaiming a decree. Byleth found it charming; Ferdinand leaned towards pomposity but he was also honest--making him a better man than his father, the former Prime Minister of Adrestia. 

'But for the sake of the lives claimed by this senseless war,' Ferdinand went on, 'I hope to Seiros that we win.' 

He bowed and headed back to the cathedral, leaving Byleth to contemplate the calm surface of the pond and the way it reflected the sky. 

*

iii. Crimson Flower, Great Tree Moon

There were few things Byleth regarded with a deep-seated hatred: actions that led to wasting food, scraping old ink off parchment (he wasn't against the idea of reusing limited resources, but he hated the sound of pumice stone scraping against animal skin), but most of all he loathed marching to battle in the rain. 

So of course rain fell in fucking torrents as the Adrestian army marched for Fhirdiad. Byleth wished for the swift release of death as the muddy path clung to his boots, as if the earth itself was trying to hold him back. Each squelching step dared him to move forward. 

'We're not meant to be here,' said Bernadetta, in hushed tones. 'And we're being punished for our hubris.'

Edelgard laughed. 'Come now, Bernadetta. We have looked the Immaculate One in the eye and laughed in scorn. Don't fall back now.' 

'I did none of those things.' Bernadetta buried her face in her hands. 'Do you reckon I should have?' 

'Gently now, Edel.' Dorothea broke formation to move from the back row of Edelgard's personal guards and stand next to Bernadetta. Byleth had no idea how Dorothea could move so quickly in her heeled boots, but he suspected those who could use magic were using spells to tame the elements. 'Let's not tease Bernie so.' 

'Forgive me,' said Edelgard, her face softening. 'But I mean it when I say you've achieved more than you give yourself credit for, Bernadetta. I'm glad you and your bow are here to protect me.' 

Bernadetta turned red but there was newly found resolution in the set of her shoulders. 'Of course.' 

Byleth gave Edelgard a nod before pointing with his chin at Ashe, who had emerged from the bushes behind their troops and was heading in their direction. 'Scout's back.' 

'One of them, at least,' said Edelgard, with a frown. Caspar had flown farther afield, in a bid to find out where Seiros and her forces had set camp. 'Whose name would you set your blessings on, professor, when you're fighting against the saints?' 

'Mine,' said Byleth, smiling. 'And the goddess's.' 

'I didn't know you believed in her,' said Edelgard. 

'Not in the way of her faithful, no.' Byleth raised his hand to wave at Ashe. 'What news?' 

Ashe pulled his hood back, shaking off the water that had soaked the fabric and plastered his hair neatly on his skull. 'Gautier and his forces guard the bridge to Tailtean Plains. Mercedes holds the western fort along with a troop of pegasus riders.' 

Byleth sighed and added pegasus riders to his list of hated things. 'And the king?'

'His Ma--the king stands right outside the capital.' Ashe blushed at his slip of the tongue, but Byleth pretended not to notice. Lonato's death had pushed Ashe to seek his justice outside his homeland, but he was allowed to show respect for the King of Faerghus--especially since Dimitri has been nothing but chivalrous so far. 

'Of course.' Edelgard looked at Byleth. 'Are you ready for this, professor?' 

Byleth was soaked to his linens and his feet were numb from the cold, but he was never going to be ready for this, so he nodded. 

'May your goddess be with you,' said Edelgard, with a smile. 

'Don't worry,' said Byleth, grip tightening around the handle of his sword. 'She is.' 

*

Despite Byleth and Edelgard's combined efforts, the battle in Tailtean Plains was anything but clean. Sylvain was as canny as Byleth had feared, bringing down half of the vanguard before getting killed by Hubert and Dorothea. But their hard-won progress was cut short when Dimitri's men turned into demonic beasts right before their eyes, pushing Adrestian forces back towards the bridge.

'Would it serve to retreat?' said Edelgard, her grip on Amyr's handle was so tight Byleth could see the veins in her hands. 

Byleth opened his mouth to agree but got cut off by Caspar's shouting. 

'Seiros is coming from the east,' said Caspar, his voice strained as he struggled to keep Mook from falling face-first onto the ground. Both Caspar and his mount were wounded; several arrows protruded from Mook's right wing and the right leg of Caspar's armour was red with blood. 

Byleth didn't have to call for the healers; Linhardt had rushed in to help his friend despite trying to avoid looking at Caspar's wounds directly. 

'We're effectively trapped,' said Hubert, sounding like someone had offered him tea instead of coffee. 

'How many men are with Seiros?' said Byleth. 

'Forty-odd.' Caspar hissed in pain as Linhardt worked his healing magic. 'And a handful of demonic beasts. I'd take my chances with them.'

'No you won't,' said Linhardt. 

'They surprised me and I was outnumbered,' said Caspar. 'But we can't march towards Blaiddyd with Seiros pressing in from the back.' 

'He's right.' Edelgard seemed to have snapped into focus at Caspar's return; knowing Seiros was in Tailtean erased whatever trace of doubt that lingered in her mind, the hesitation at facing a childhood friend--and her first love--in battle. 'Professor?'

'Petra, Ashe, Bernadetta.' Byleth nodded at them one by one: Edelgard's generals, slightly battered and more than a little spooked from being surrounded by demonic beasts. Ashe's eyes in particular showed too much white, the shock of seeing his former companions die pushed to the same place as his grief when he'd loosed his arrows at Lord Lonato. 'Gather as many men as could hide in the forest and double back behind Seiros's troops.' 

Edelgard started to protest but Byleth cut her off. 

'You,' he said to his own battalion, men and women who'd been with him since Officers Academy--some of whom had come from Jeralt's group. 'Raise my banner. Seiros wants me and she should know where I am.' 

That should be enough to distract Seiros's men from spotting Petra's group. Byleth had chosen them for their stealth and he hoped they would be enough to thin out the forces blocking their retreat. 

'And Dimitri?' said Edelgard. 'Do you think he would stay put, knowing where you are?' 

'We're spreading ourselves too thin,' Dorothea added. 'Do we dare risk Petra and the others in a gamble?' 

Dorothea's question was more easily answered, no matter how Byleth wished otherwise. He looked at Petra.

'I swore to stand next to Edelgard,' she said, bowing. 'Not only for love but for a future where Fòdlan needs not to hold hostages like me to ensure a foreign country's good behaviour.' 

Ashe exchanged glares with Caspar but voiced his agreement, and so did Bernadetta. Soldiers would fall in battle, some of them Byleth held more dear than others, but he knew no one in the Adrestian army would face death unwillingly. They'd promised Edelgard their support. 

'Dimitri would not wait for us to reach Fhirdiad,' said Byleth. 'But he couldn't afford to leave the capital's walls unguarded, he'd send his men rather than charge himself. That should give us enough leeway.' 

'Is Blaiddyd really that good?' said Caspar. 

'Oh, he is. He comes at you like a raging storm,' said Byleth, deadpan. 'He's not bad at fighting either.' 

Dorothea laughed. 'Incorrigible,' she said, shaking her head at Byleth. 'I would never understand the thrill you all feel when you pitch your strength against each other.' 

She reached out for the sleeve of Byleth's coat. 'Promise me everything will be fine.' 

'I'll try,' said Byleth. 

He knew. When Dedue turned into the largest demonic beast Byleth had ever seen and he heard Dimitri's despairing cry. When he saw Ashe--his face pale and mouth pressed into a grim line--rejoin Edelgard's troops with Caspar's bloody axe clutched in one hand. And as Byleth sank to his knees in the mud trying to keep the dirt from staining Dorothea's robes as if it still mattered, his hands leaving streaks of blood and wet muck on her skin as he felt for her pulse, he knew he had failed. 

The despair and hatred in Dimitri's eyes mirrored Byleth's own, the two of them reunited after half a decade, reeking of blood and surrounded by the corpses of those they held dear. 

'I don't know why you chose to stand by her,' said Dimitri. 

Byleth said nothing, but because this was the man who hadn't laughed when Byleth admitted to not knowing the names of the saints; who'd recommended his favourite books with the magelights of the library shining in his eyes; who'd always given Byleth the last of his sweet buns; and the man who'd walked with Byleth around the monastery, silent and comforting in the aftermath of Jeralt's death--because this was Dimitri, Byleth allowed himself the silent defiance of crying.

Dimitri must have noticed Byleth's tears despite Byleth's face being a mess of blood and sweat and mud, because he nodded. His voice was almost gentle when he added, 'I'll see you in hell, then.' 

They moved almost at the same time: Byleth swinging the Sword of the Creator as Dimitri charged at him with Areadbhar. The tip of Byleth's sword managed to pierce Dimitri's side, Sothis's bones tearing through Dimitri's armour to slice at his flesh, but this came at a great price. Byleth fell to the ground, holding the stump that used to be his left arm, his brain allowing him a few seconds of respite as it struggled to understand what had happened. When his mind finally caught up with the entirety of his wound, he screamed. 

In the red and throbbing haze of pain, Byleth heard Ashe cry out, saw Dimitri stumble as Ashe's arrows struck true. Dimitri was shouting, his voice breaking under his sadness and regrets. Byleth wished he could reach out and tell Dimitri everything would be fine. In death, they would finally have peace.

Edelgard said, 'Farewell, Prince of Delusions.' 

The rain kept falling. As the pain subsided and his vision darkened, Byleth thought--

No. 

*

iii. Crimson Flower, Great Tree Moon

'Dimitri would not wait for us to reach Fhirdiad,' said Byleth. 'But he couldn't afford to leave the capital's walls unguarded, he'd send his men rather than charge himself. That should give us enough leeway.' 

'Is Blaiddyd really that good?' said Caspar. 

'Oh, he is. He comes at you like a raging storm,' said Byleth, deadpan. 'He's not bad at fighting either.' 

Dorothea laughed. 'Incorrigible,' she said, shaking her head at Byleth. 'I would never understand the thrill you all feel when you pitch your strength against each other.' 

She reached out for the sleeve of Byleth's coat. 'Promise me everything will be fine.' 

'I'll try,' said Byleth. 'We need to be quick. The Kingdom forces have Crest stones in their possession.' 

'As I feared,' said Edelgard, exchanging a glance with Hubert. 'We must stop them from using those stones or we'd be surrounded by as many demonic beasts as human enemies.' 

'Indeed.' Byleth looked at Caspar. 'Dorothea and Linhardt are going to focus on magical attacks and healing. I need you to guard them.' 

Caspar scowled. 'But--'

'Dorothea is a sitting duck when she's working on remote attacks.' Byleth leaned closer so only Caspar would hear. 'Ashe can take care of himself.' 

'Fine.' Caspar stood up. He had to use the long handle of his axe as a cane, but Linhardt was still hard at work mending his torn muscles. 'Do you always pick logic over emotions, professor?' 

'Why do you think I'm here,' said Byleth. 'Challenging the King of Faerghus?'

'I'm sorry.'

'No.' Byleth sighed, rubbing his face. 'You're right. Caspar, I'm sorry.'

Caspar gave him a look, but Byleth pretended not to notice as he waved at his standard-bearer. 

'If Seiros and her Knights try to engage,' said Byleth, 'I won't take it badly if you run.' 

'Where to?' said Nathan, with a grin. 'I'd take my chances against a saint if it means I won't have to run in this weather.' 

His mates laughed and thumped him on the back. A few paces away, Edelgard's men raised the banner of Hresvelg once more as Edelgard shouted her commands. 

The Adrestian Army had regrouped and done it well: they focused on preventing the remaining Kingdom knights from using the Crest stones while dodging the demonic beasts' attacks. Petra and her companions rejoined Edelgard soon after Dedue's capture. They looked frustrated but suffered only minor injuries. 

'We took care of most of the Knights, but Seiros escaped,' said Petra, shaking her head. 

'Leaving the allied Kingdom forces to fend for themselves,' Ashe added. There was a trace of bitterness in his voice. 'After Faerghus had granted them asylum too.' 

'We'll face her again soon enough,' said Caspar, grinning. He'd taken a blow to the head meant for Dorothea and most of his body was covered in bandages, but he seemed happy enough to find Ashe safe. 'But for now, we need to take the capital.' 

A third of the Adrestian army moved west to apprehend Mercedes, but Edelgard led her troops straight for the walls of Firdhiad where Dimitri stood waiting. 

Byleth scanned the battlefield, the ranks of knights and warlocks surrounding Dimitri, and thought of another rainy day in another life. Dimitri had held him then, supporting his weight as he mourned and swore revenge to his dead father. 

In this life, Byleth and Dimitri stood on opposing sides of the battlefield. Giving his men the order to attack, Byleth thought about honour and regrets. 

*

This was how it should have gone from the start.

'I don't know why you chose to stand by her,' said Dimitri. 

Byleth said nothing, but because this was the man who hadn't laughed when Byleth admitted to not knowing the names of the saints; who'd recommended his favourite books with the magelights of the library shining in his eyes; who'd always given Byleth the last of his sweet buns; and the man who'd walked with Byleth around the monastery, silent and comforting in the aftermath of Jeralt's death--because this was Dimitri, Byleth allowed himself the silent defiance of crying.

Dimitri must have noticed Byleth's tears despite Byleth's face being a mess of blood and sweat and mud, because he nodded. His voice was almost gentle when he added, 'I'll see you in hell, then.' 

They moved almost at the same time: Byleth swinging the Sword of the Creator as Dimitri charged at him with Areadbhar. The tip of Byleth's sword managed to pierce Dimitri's side, Sothis's bones tearing through Dimitri's armour to slice at his flesh, but this came at a great price. Byleth staggered back, pulling Areadbhar down with him, and Dimitri caught him by the small of his back before he fell to the ground. 

Byleth gave the pulsing relic that was sticking out of his stomach a bemused look. 'Couldn't have used,' he coughed, the sound wet, and he felt something warm trickling down the corners of his mouth, 'sharp weapon like normal people?' 

Dimitri's laugh seemed to catch at the back of his throat. 'There are worse ways to go than being killed by someone who loves you.' 

'How did you?' Byleth tried to reach out and touch Dimitri's face, but he was losing himself fast. He could barely see Dimitri anymore, the anger and tiredness and the redness around Dimitri's eyes. 'Your eye.' 

From somewhere far away, he could hear a woman's voice, 'You! We had an agreement.' 

'I changed my mind,' said Dimitri. 

'He must--stolen,' said the woman. Byleth was having a hard time focusing on her voice. '--betrayal.'

Someone was crying. Byleth knew he should stand up; someone was waiting for him. He was supposed to help her. But there was only darkness and the press of something soft against his lips. 

'Sleep now, professor.'

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from the 'I want an S Support' mood that has pushed a lot of people into creating m!dimileth content, that scene in Silver Snow is what really made me decide I wanted to write an 'all routes' long fic with Byleth. That tragic 'they must have wanted to show you their face and ask for guidance', combined with Ferdinand's 'he should never have gone to war with his emotions unchecked' is 👌. I wanted to write Byleth reacting to that and even lashing out a bit. 
> 
> Anyway, this fic is getting so incredibly long and I thank everyone who got this far. See you in the next chapter!


	11. War: Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Dimitri go to Fhirdiad.

i. Azure Moon, Great Tree Moon

The sun had almost reached its zenith when the Emperor ordered her men to retreat. Byleth nodded his thanks to Constance, who had scouted the battlefield for Dimitri. Acres of lush fields that would have turned golden with the harvest of wheat and corn, all trampled underfoot by warring armies and baptised with tears and blood. Close to the borders of Fort Merceus, Dimitri tried to follow Edelgard's fleeing forces. 

'Professor,' said Rodrigue, charging past Byleth on his horse. 'Someone lend the Archbishop a damn mount, for Cichol's sake.' 

A Fraldarius knight from Rodrigue's battalion reined her horse and allowed Byleth to catch up. She gave him a wink before dismounting. 

'She's been hard at work since this morning,' said the knight, rubbing her mount's neck. 'But at least she didn't have to bear those beefcakes guarding Lord Rodrigue--'

'Fuck you too, Mona,' another knight called out as he passed them to follow their liege. As Mona implied, he was fairly bursting out of his leather armour--although judging from the look on her face, she didn't hate the view. 

Byleth had learned to ride when he was a child and he rode as well as anyone that's been personally taught by the Blade Breaker, but it wasn't his favourite mode of transportation. He patted the top of horse's head awkwardly and cursed Dimitri for being so far away. 

'Guess she won't have problems with you either,' said Mona, eyeing Byleth's waistline. He resisted the urge to tell her he hadn't eaten since breakfast. 'Off you go, then.' 

Byleth went and, thanks to Jeralt's training, he did so swiftly. But Gronder Field was vast and many soldiers lay dead or dying upon it; there was no respectful way to ride across a field in the aftermath of battle but Byleth couldn't bring himself to let his mount jump over piles of corpses even in haste.

If he had, perhaps Rodrigue wouldn't have died. But Byleth had no time for regrets: the girl who had stabbed Rodrigue in the chest had pulled her dagger free, the blood on Rodrigue's robes blooming angry red. With a cry, she lunged and aimed for Dimitri's neck. 

'Professor, please,' said Rodrigue, collapsing to the ground. His voice, strong despite his pain, was edged with panic.

Byleth urged his horse forward. He didn't think of how familiar the girl looked or how young she was--Byleth pushed hesitation and pity to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the war, how the army would fare without a leader to rally around, and a future without Dimitri. Byleth swung the Sword of the Creator down and stabbed the girl in the heart: he could give her a quick and clean death if nothing else. 

'Your Highness,' said Rodrigue. 'Are you all right?' 

Dimitri sank to his knees and held Rodrigue close. His reply was no more than a whisper, his shoulders shaking as he tried to speak. 

'Is anyone trained in healing?' said Byleth, addressing Rodrigue's guards. One of them hurried off to fetch a healer while Byleth gave the rest orders to secure the perimeter.

He urged his horse to keep moving; there might be enemies lurking around still and--while he had failed to save Rodrigue--he could at least allow Rodrigue and Dimitri their privacy. 

Byleth squinted up at the sky and waited until Constance was within speaking distance. 

'Is there anything we can do?' 

'She missed his heart but I think her dagger had pierced a lung,' said Constance. Her pegasus landed on the ground near Byleth's horse, folding its wings so they could walk next to each other. 'Experts in the art of healing would be able to give him perhaps half an hour of respite, but it is a mortal wound.' 

They rode in silence, the clopping of their mounts' hooves joining the background noises of a battlefield mourning the loss of life. 

'They seem very close,' said Constance, her tone implied a question Byleth could ignore if he wasn't in the mood to talk. 

'Rodrigue is something of a father figure to Dimitri,' said Byleth. 'He and the late king were close friends.' 

'And that girl?' 

Byleth rubbed a hand across his face. 'Someone from camp,' he said. 'I've seen her before but damn me if I remember when or where.' 

'I am but a lowly creature allowed to accompany Your Grace,' said Constance, with a bow. She probably didn't realise bowing so low while keeping her seat did nothing but show off her skills at riding. 'And one such as myself dare not hope to possess a glimmer of honour. But I care for people who do, a lowly creature like me who cannot help but fear--'

'Constance,' said Byleth. 'What worries you?' 

'There are people this lowly creature worries about,' she said. A flash in her eye reminded Byleth of Constance in her shadowed glory: sharp and practical. 'I would not have them serve under a leader that inspires such wrath from innocent children.' 

Byleth felt as if she had slapped him in the face. His horse must have picked up his mood because she stopped and made a snorting sound. 

'To be fair, both war and love treat honour the same way,' said Constance, her voice softening. 'I'm very sorry, Your Grace.'

Constance nudged the flank of her pegasus gently with the back of her foot, urging her mount to spread its wings and take flight once more. Byleth took a deep breath before returning to Dimitri's side. 

*

Rain fell that night; fine drops that settled deceptively light on fabric, the kind that soaked through clothes before the wearer took notice of being wet. Wrapped in a heavy cloak, Byleth waited outside the barracks and ate sugared almonds from the pack of sweets Mercedes had given him after dinner. 

When he saw Dimitri's shadowy figure cross the courtyard to head for the stables, Byleth pocketed his sweets and hurried after the prince. 

'You're in the way,' said Dimitri. 'Move.' 

The allied Kingdom forces had shared a toast in honour of Rodrigue after dinner. Those who had known him well--the troops from Fraldarius, the lords of Faerghus, and his son--had kept the drinks flowing as they reminisced about Rodrigue's achievements. Byleth wished he'd drank more wine before he'd headed out, but Dimitri had stayed by his side on that rainy day when Jeralt died: he owed Dimitri this much. 

'You're going to Enbarr, aren't you?' 

'And if I am?' 

Byleth rested a hand on his sword. 'I would have to stop you.' 

'You'd stop me.' Dimitri's laugh was a few seconds away from hysteria. 'While our enemies continue with their evil deeds and the dead howl for vengeance. You'd stop me.'

'There's nothing I can do for the dead,' said Byleth. 'But you're alive and I don't intend to let you join them just yet.'

'Who else would bear the pain and regrets of the dead but the living?' Dimitri held out a hand and clutched it tightly into a fist. In the gentle light of the moon, his scars shone like a tiny map of rivers against his skin. 'Their final moments had left marks far deeper than the wounds on my body. This is the path I'd chosen to take and one I can't leave.' 

'There has to be another way.'

'What, to move on and live as the dead would have wanted me to?' Dimitri looked down his shapely--if slightly crooked--nose at Byleth. 'Nothing but pretty words. There's fuck all after death: we have only the promises we made to those who are dying.' 

Byleth moved forward; he wanted to brush the drops of rain from Dimitri's hair but Dimitri's glare kept him from reaching out.

'What brought me back from the brink of death, what pushed me to work so hard at Officers Academy,' said Dimitri, 'was the thought of getting revenge.' 

'Dimitri.' 

'So tell me, professor.' Dimitri turned away so Byleth could see nothing but the tip of his nose and the black leather of his eyepatch under the veil of his hair. 'What am I supposed to do now?'

Sometimes Dimitri's youth hit Byleth like a punch to the gut. He was a few years older and had faced his own problems as a commoner, but the more he knew about Dimitri's past the more he realised how much he'd been spoiled by Jeralt. Byleth had his rude but charming father to smooth over awkward social interactions and worry about the practicalities of living. Meanwhile, Dimitri had been navigating the volatile court of Faerghus on his own at the age of fourteen. 

Rodrigue had acted like a father to Dimitri after King Lambert's death, and now Rodrigue was dead as well. The burden of living was heavy for those who are left behind. 

'You need to forgive yourself,' said Byleth. 

Dimitri gasped, looking back at Byleth like he'd been hit. 

'When I lost my family, you promised to be my strength,' said Byleth. 'And so you were.' He took another step forward and this time Dimitri did nothing to stop him. 'You did well, Dimitri.' 

Dimitri exhaled and the lines of his body seemed to lean towards Byleth. 

'Now it's time to live for yourself.'

'Can I do that?' said Dimitri. 'What kind of life is left for someone like me--a monster who had killed so many innocent people?' 

'There's a reason why we're still here,' said Byleth, with a small smile. 'Your Highness.' 

'Is there.' Dimitri laughed, a sharp sound that ended in a grimace. 

'I assure you it's not because of your charming personality,' said Byleth. This was unfair, but the Dimitri from five years ago wasn't the Dimitri they were talking about now. 'The man who believed violence is not always the right answer, does he still exist, Dimitri?'

'You're speaking of someone else.' 

'The man who got in my face about killing Lord Lonato was someone else.' Byleth held out his hand. 'Then why are you hurting now?'

Dimitri took Byleth's hand. The rain had soaked both of them but Byleth reckoned he was doing better than Dimitri, who was still wearing his armour. 

'Your hand,' said Dimitri. 'Has it always been this warm?' 

Byleth leaned down to kiss the back of Dimitri's hand. The fires of the tragedy in Duscur had left their mark on Dimitri and the scars felt rough against Byleth's lips. But scars meant healing and Byleth felt a rush of warmth in his chest when he thought of how _alive_ Dimitri was. How he was there, cold and dripping in his fur and armour, but alive. 

'Let's get out of this shitty weather,' said Byleth, smiling again when he heard Dimitri laugh.

*

ii. Verdant Wind, Garland Moon

As the students Byleth had known from Officers Academy fell one by one in the battlefield, the allied Leicester army marched ever closer to Enbarr. Hubert's forces had been the last major obstacle between them and the Emperor; with Hubert out of the way, Byleth and Claude stopped to confer about their next move.

'That's the castle,' said Claude, shielding his eyes with one hand as he looked up at the pale magnificence of Castle Enbarr. Imperial architects didn't have to worry about punishing winters or the constant threat of aerial raids, and so had more room to design for beauty as well as purpose. 'Pretty grand, don't you think? The original parts of it predate Garreg Mach by more than a century.' 

'We're not here for an historical tour, Claude,' said Lorenz. He was trying not to sound too interested, Byleth knew. There was a lot of affectation in Lorenz, but his interest in cultural matters was certainly real. 

'Maybe not, but you can't just ignore the historical significance of Enbarr, can you?' said Claude, placing careful emphasis on the h of historical. 'No matter how I feel about it, this place does inspire awe.'

'I wonder if the Emperor is watching us from one of those towers,' said Hilda. 'Is she afraid or just smiling smugly, do you think?' 

'We've got Claude on our side,' said Leonie. 'But even then, I'm not sure we're not playing right into the Emperor's hands.' 

'I know.' Hilda gave a mock shudder. 'I'm just no good with all this planning and scheming.' 

Byleth heard approaching footsteps and moved closer to Claude as he scanned the area. He almost dropped his sword when he saw Dedue Molinaro's tall figure walking towards the War Council, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.

'Hello,' said Claude, his eyes narrowing. 'Is that Dedue?' 

'I heard the Leicester army had reached Enbarr,' said Dedue, giving them a bow. 'I have been looking for you.' 

Dedue looked at Byleth as he spoke and Byleth gave a noncommittal 'hmm'. 

Byleth knew Dedue had little reason to like him, not after the battle at Gronder Field. The Kingdom owed its defeat to Adrestia, but the tides of that war might have turned another way had Faerghus and Leicester met in the battlefield as allies. Distrust and Adrestian scheming had prevented such an alliance from happening; Byleth had to make the decision to fight against both countries instead of risking a betrayal. 

There had been a traitor in Gronder Field that day, and he was the man who used to be Dimitri's lover.

Byleth took a deep breath. 'Were you in Enbarr all this time?' 

'I arrived not long after--' Dedue stopped himself and took a deep breath. Byleth was also known for the lack of expression on his face, so he knew what to look for: the way Dedue avoided meeting his eyes and the tightness in Dedue's jaw. Dedue's hands had clenched into fists at his side. 'Not long after the battle at Gronder Field. I have come to kill Edelgard.' 

'If you want to join our ranks, we'd be more than happy to have you,' said Claude, smiling and rubbing his chin in the way Hilda had dubbed his 'sleazy merchant mannerisms'. 

'I believe we have different objectives.' Dedue shook his head. 'I swore to His Highness I would cut off Edelgard's head in his stead. But I need to make sure someone else would do the same, should I fail.' He glared at Byleth again. 

'You have my word,' said Byleth. 

'That would have to suffice,' said Dedue. He reached inside his cloak and handed Byleth a folded piece of parchment. 'I have gathered information on Castle Enbarr while I waited for my chance to strike. It's all in there.' 

'We appreciate your help,' said Hilda. 'But are you really going to storm the castle on your own?' 

'I've done what I came here to do,' said Dedue, giving Byleth a bow. 'Farewell.' 

'Hey,' said Claude. 'Wait!' 

Dedue gave Byleth a look before walking off. Byleth moved at the same time as Claude, getting in Claude's way so subtly Claude would never be sure if he had done so intentionally. 

'Well, he's gone,' said Claude. 'The man's as much of a mystery as his liege was.'

'Was Dimitri mysterious?' said Byleth. He didn't expect to hear that from Claude, whose real name and lineage was still unknown to all but a handful of close friends. 

'Perhaps mysterious isn't the right word,' said Claude. 'But he was hard to read, wasn't he? Can you really say you knew Dimitri well?'

Claude's eyes grew wide when he realised what he'd said, but Byleth just laughed. 

'It was always about listening to the things he didn't say,' he said, 'as well as the things he did.' 

'I'm sorry,' said Claude. 

Byleth sighed. 'So am I.' 

'Hey, we're almost at the end of this nasty war,' said Hilda. 'You both could be a bit more inspiring? For the sake of our troops?' 

'She's not wrong,' said Lorenz. 'Winning this battle means the fall of the Empire.' 

'And what do we do about Fòdlan after that?' said Byleth, smiling at Claude. 

'I have been thinking about it.' Claude looked at his hands, roughened by training and stained with chemicals. 'There's much to rebuild at the end of this war. Perhaps this would be a good time to unify the three countries as one.' 

'I wouldn't mind that,' said Leonie, placing her hands on her hips. 'It's going to be hard enough starting over, the least we could do is help each other out.' 

'And who do you propose would lead this united Fòdlan?' said Lorenz, looking at Byleth. 

'A place where everyone is accepted, no matter where they come from or how they look,' said Claude, almost to himself. 'Who do you think should lead Fòdlan into such a future, my brother?'

'We have moved forward at the strength of your vision, Claude,' said Byleth. 'It should be you.' 

'And what about you, Your Grace?' said Lorenz. He sounded like he had some choice words about Claude's visions, but was keeping silent under sufferance. 'I would have thought you're the most likely candidate.' 

'Perhaps it's too early to decide,' said Byleth. 'There are things I have to do.' 

'True enough,' said Claude, looking at the castle again. 'I expect the Emperor has prepared surprises inside the castle against our little visit.' He turned to his generals and raised his voice. 'Make what arrangements you need and be ready to storm Castle Enbarr on my signal.' 

As the army cheered and the generals shouted their commands, Claude turned to Byleth and said softly, 'No use in making plans when you might end up dead, right, brother?' 

'I don't intend to die,' said Byleth. 

'That's good to hear.' Claude was smiling, but something in his eyes told Byleth he was still worried. 

'I never expected Dimitri to live long,' said Byleth, ignoring Claude's gasp. 'He was a practical man and the price of revenge isn't cheap.' He gave Claude a pat on the shoulder. 'I really do have things I need to do, brother.' 

Claude laughed, the sound holding as much relief as amusement. 'Is there no shred of poetry in your soul? You're going to make Lorenz weep.'

'From the sound of him, the late prince wasn't given to poetry either.' Lorenz shook his head. 'A perfect match, if you ask me.' 

'Eavesdropping is unbecoming of a nobleman,' said Byleth, who knew perfectly well gossiping and eavesdropping were the nobility's tools of trade. Sometimes they even talked about important matters. 

'I heard my name mentioned,' said Lorenz. 

'I don't think we'd survive Claude if we didn't do unbecoming things now and then,' Hilda offered. She was, of course, an exemplary noblewoman. 

'True enough.' Byleth laughed. 'Now if you'll excuse me. I have some preparations to make.' 

*

Byleth didn't have to go far, but the backstreets of Enbarr were tricky and tangled and he would have gotten lost had Dedue not written detailed instructions on the piece of parchment he had given Byleth. 

'Alois would have a conniption if he finds out about this,' said Shamir. 

'That's why you're here,' said Byleth, checking the map again. Dedue had marked what Byleth assumed was a tavern--just another small square in the cluster that hugged the riverbank, as if the graceful hulk of the castle had pushed them almost to the edge. 'Here we are.' 

Dedue was waiting for him in front of a row of shabby buildings. One of them had a sign with a painted gryphon hanging above the door. The area looked respectable, if rather run-down; the kind of place where people looked out for their own. Jeralt would have loved it. 

'I didn't think you'd come,' said Dedue. 

'But you still asked,' said Byleth. He nodded at Shamir, who left them to their business. 

'You wanted me to,' said Dedue. 'And perhaps His Highness, had he been alive.' 

'He told me about Fhirdiad,' said Byleth, looking back at the map so he could avoid Dedue's steady gaze. 'The winters were harsh and beautiful, he said.'

He paused and Dedue was forced to say, 'Yes.' 

'Just like him, I thought,' said Byleth. He took a deep breath and finally looked Dedue in the eyes. His voice was almost calm when he said, 'After this, would you show me where he's buried?'

Something in Dedue's face changed. Despite the little visual cues Byleth knew to look out for, Dedue was still a hard man to read. The flick of eyelids that wasn't quite a blink and the easing in the line of Dedue's jaw felt like the equivalent of a sigh. 

'Yes,' said Dedue. 'And the rest of Fhirdiad, should you wish to.' 

Byleth did not think of the battle at Gronder Field, not the way Hilda's voice shook as she told him news of Dimitri's death, not Dimitri--maddened and dying and full of hate--his body torn and pierced with lances as he tried to follow Edelgard. There was time enough for that, once this was over and the Empire had fallen. 

The price of revenge wasn't cheap, but people kept paying anyway. 

Byleth nodded. 'I'd love that.'

*

iii. Azure Moon, Harpstring Moon

Marching back to Fhirdiad felt like travelling back through the seasons; Byleth pulled his cloak tighter around his body and thought fondly of the mild weather in Myrddin. 

'Madness,' said Shamir, wrinkling her nose as her boots made crunching sounds on the frosty road. 'Doubling back to the Kingdom capital after taking Myrddin? You should have stopped him.' 

Byleth looked past the knights marching ahead of him in orderly queues to where Dimitri sat astride his horse, leaning slightly to his left so he could hear what Ingrid was saying. 

'If I hadn't been overruled before we headed out of Garreg Mach,' said Byleth, 'we wouldn't have this problem.' 

Ingrid must have said something funny, because Dimitri laughed. He still looked tired, but the unmarred happiness in his face and the way his hair caught the sunlight made him glow like a beacon in the middle of the bleak Faerghus landscape. 

'You don't seem too bothered.' Shamir snorted. 'Enjoying the view?'

'Well,' said Byleth. 'Yes.' 

'And the view's coming this way,' said Shamir. She still sounded annoyed, but she smiled at Byleth before fading back into the shadows of his guard detail. 'Have fun, Archbishop.' 

'Professor.' Dimitri dismounted before heading for Byleth, leaving his horse to Dedue and Ingrid's almost parental concern. 'How are you finding Faerghus so far?'

'Cold,' said Byleth, letting his lower lip stick out. 

'Let's have some warm mead when we set up camp later,' said Dimitri. 'You've never been good with the cold, have you?'

'This isn't normal for Harpstring Moon,' said Byleth, stomping his foot on the ground for emphasis. His boots crunched in the frosty ground just like Shamir's did. 'Summer's almost here.' 

'It's normal for northern Faerghus.' Dimitri frowned at the ground as if it had insulted his ancestry. 'Do you hate it here, professor?' 

Byleth smiled, letting the back of his hand brush against Dimitri's. 'The view's not bad.' 

He could swear he heard Shamir trying not to laugh. 

'I guess it can't be helped.' Dimitri leaned close, his breath warm against Byleth's neck. 'I just need to make sure you don't freeze to death at night.' 

'I'd appreciate that.' 

'It's good to see you two getting along,' said Sylvain, guiding his horse close. 'But you might want to tone it down before Seteth drops dead from his wyvern.'

Dimitri sighed and stepped back, stumbling a bit because Byleth had wrapped a corner of Dimitri's cloak and fur around himself when Dimitri wasn't looking. 

'I didn't think I'd get to come back,' said Dimitri. 'It seems like a lifetime ago when I'd been sentenced to hang for killing Rufus.' 

'Your Highness,' said Sylvain. 'Gautier and Fraldarius would always regret not being there--' 

'Don't be.' Dimitri shook his head. 'Cornelia's a cunning woman; she wouldn't have allowed you or Felix to stay and speak for me during the trial.' He laughed. 'And a farce of a trial that was.' 

'Even so,' said Sylvain. He had dropped his courtier's tone, glossy politeness giving way to his honest emotion. 'I want you to know we would have stayed by your side, had we a say in the matter.' 

Dimitri was silent for a while, only looking up when Byleth held his hand. 

'Thank you, Sylvain,' said Dimitri. 

'You are our king,' said Sylvain, pitching his voice so only Dimitri and Byleth would hear. ‘No matter what I feel about the traditions of the ruling class in Fòdlan. I always thought--’ he caught himself and laughed. ‘Listen to me. This mood is not my style at all.’ 

‘There’s no need to pretend,’ said Dimitri. 'And I have observed how the court treated Rufus and Miklan. The traditions surrounding Crest bearers and the nobility have never been far from my mind.' 

'That's all I need to hear.' Sylvain bowed. 'You do have a lot to make up for, Dimitri.' 

Dimitri laughed. 'And I hope you stay and guide me in the right direction should I stray again, my friend.' He pulled Byleth's hand up to press his lips against Byleth's knuckles. 'And you.'

'I was promised a warm bed,' said Byleth. 

'As expected of a mercenary. Compensation is important, isn't it?' Sylvain laughed and gave Dimitri a wink. 'You should be glad you have a pretty face, Your Highness.' 

Byleth raised his free hand. 'He is also warm.' 

'Is this revenge for the times I've overruled your decisions in the War Council?' said Dimitri, hiding his pink face behind Byleth's hand. 

'I missed seeing you get flustered,' said Byleth. He smiled to himself as Dimitri pouted and mumbled apologies, feeling almost warm for the first time in days. 

*

The Dukedom fell in the same way Cornelia did: spiteful and without grace. Byleth tried not to spit on the ground as he flicked the blood off the Sword of the Creator, glaring at the mountainous hulk of the broken automata blocking the city streets. 

'Never seen the likes of them before,' said Felix, examining the surface of his shield. Wielded by an heir of Fraldarius who bore the Crest, it took on the incandescent look of newly forged metal. 'They actually managed to scratch the Aegis shield.' 

'I can help you fix that,' said Annette, leaning over his arm to look. 'I learned a few things about technomancy in the School of Sorcery, but nothing of this scope.' 

'You think the Empire would be employing more of them?' said Felix. 

'Perhaps.' Annette sounded almost happy at the prospect of more research. 'I need to compare notes with Constance; House Nuvelle might have access to studies unavailable to Faerghus scholars.' 

'Go on,' said Felix, meeting Byleth's eyes. 'He needs you.'

Byleth found Dimitri with Dedue and Gilbert in the inner courtyard of Castle Fhirdiad. They stood around the wooden bier where Cornelia's corpse was laid out--a traitor to the Kingdom at the end, but she had saved the lives of many when plague had struck the land two decades ago; Dimitri was too nice to allow her to get buried in a mass grave along with her loyal soldiers. 

'What she said before she died--' Dimitri began. He shook his head as Byleth moved to stand next to him. 'If we can find proof of the real culprits behind my father's death, we can finally exonerate the people of Duscur.' 

'Your Highness,' said Dedue, with a bow. 'I would appreciate that, but if it would cast doubts on the late Queen's honour as--'

'It doesn't matter,' said Dimitri. 'I just want to know the truth, and to see justice done.'

'There will be time enough for that, Your Highness,' said Gilbert. 'And I promise to aid you in your search to the best of my abilities. But for now, your people await.' 

Byleth licked his thumb and used his spit to wipe off the worst of the bloodstains from Dimitri's face. 

'Professor!' said Dimitri, turning red.

'You need to look nice when you face the populace,' said Byleth, reaching out and standing on the tips of his toes so he could flatten the rebellious wisps of Dimitri's hair. 

'Perhaps this could wait,' said Dimitri. 

'Alas,' said Gilbert, sounding amused. 'People have started gathering outside the palace gates as soon as they heard of your return, Your Highness.' 

'You can't disappoint them,' said Byleth, smiling. 'We must go.' 

Dimitri looked like he was going to protest further, but he squared his shoulders with a sigh and schooled his face to hide his doubts. He got flustered easily when personal matters were involved, but the face Dimitri showed the public was near flawless. 

'You're right,' said Dimitri. 'There's much I need to make up for. I owe them this much, don't I?' 

Despite his brave words, he held Byleth's hand all the way to the public balcony that overlooked the palace gates. 

'How's security?' said Byleth, leaning close to Dedue so Dimitri wouldn't hear. 

'Ingrid and Caspar are flying nearby,' said Dedue. 'Sylvain has ordered the knights to stand guard by the front doors as well.' 

Byleth nodded. He didn't expect any funny business, but he wasn't going to take any risks after Rodrigue's death. 

As the crowd below cheered the return of their rightful king, Byleth tried to relax. Their numbers were more than he expected, but the Dukedom had not been kind to the people of Faerghus. They must have wanted to confirm the rumours about Cornelia's death and see Dimitri for themselves. 

'They shouldn't welcome me like this,' said Dimitri, his voice shaking. 'A murderer who had chosen to pursue revenge instead of taking care of his people. Why should they cheer for me?' 

'You've come back,' said Dedue, calm and solid at Dimitri's right side. 'You might not think much of it, but to people without hope, the hand you extend is a lifeline.'

'He's right,' said Byleth. 

'Faerghus,' said Dimitri, in a disbelieving rush of breath. 'I've come home.' 

The cheering got louder as he bowed to the people below. 

Byleth smiled and cupped Dimitri's face in his hands. 'Don't cry, Dimitri.' 

Dimitri sniffed and turned pink. 

'Did you have to say that?' he said, as he wiped off his tears with the back of his hand. But he was smiling and he looked more at ease than Byleth had seen him since they had first stepped on Faerghus lands. 

'Welcome home, Your Highness,' said Dedue. 

*

Celebrations were still under way when Byleth left the great hall to wander around the castle. Dimitri had been dragged into an informal meeting with minor lords and guild masters earlier, so Sylvain and Felix had shown Byleth around instead: the spare and practical beauty of Castle Fhirdiad, so different from the grandness of the monastery. 

Byleth had often forgotten Dimitri was royalty--he had a hard time imagining Dimitri engaged in courtly pursuits--but now he understood. Fhirdiad had been founded by Loog and held by generations of people who bore the Crest of Blaiddyd: the palace had been built on a regal heritage but whoever had designed the place obviously saw no need for pretension. 

Or maps. Byleth could only remember how to get to the gardens and the battlements, so he chose to head for the latter. It was late and a large amount of beer had been consumed by nobles and knights alike; Byleth was sure walking around the gardens meant perpetually running into lovers having a go in the bushes. 

Looking at the towers and the clay-tiled roofs that rose towards the battlements of Fhirdiad, Byleth thought of the young Prince Dimitri playing with his friends in the castle and carrying barrels filled with rocks around the city. What a strange childhood that must have been. He wondered if they would have gotten along as kids--Byleth couldn't remember making friends as a child and he reckoned he had spooked the other kids away with his little Ashen Demon face. 

'Had enough of the festivities?' said Dimitri. 

'I could ask you the same thing.'

'I still find it hard, being around so many people.' Dimitri raised a hand as Byleth opened his mouth. 'Not their fault. In fact, I still feel unworthy of their welcome.' 

'There are many ways and opportunities to prove yourself worthy of the trust they've given you,' said Byleth. 'That's why you're here now.' 

Dimitri nodded, stepping close so he was pressed against Byleth's back. 'Thank you.' 

'What for?' Byleth smiled and closed his eyes as Dimitri held him and wrapped his cloak around them both. Dimitri was warm and he smelled so fresh and familiar and Byleth decided they were going to stay like this for the rest of the night. 

'You've taught me a lot,' said Dimitri. 

'Hmm,' said Byleth. 'Like how to make jokes?'

'Not that.' Dimitri laughed. 'You're so strange, you know that?'

'I think I'm perfectly normal.' Byleth jabbed his elbow against Dimitri's side and got pinched for his efforts. 

'That's what the weird ones always think.' 

Byleth decided not to point out he wasn't the one who grew up carrying boulders around the palace. 'So what did I teach you?' 

'How should I put it.' Dimitri hummed and Byleth could swear the man had started chewing on Byleth's hair while he was thinking, but he finally said, 'A way of living, I suppose?' 

Byleth nodded to show Dimitri he was listening. 

'I left flowers at my parents' graves earlier,' said Dimitri. 'I haven't had the chance to visit in a long time. That wasn't the kind of life I thought I could live.'

'I'm proud of you,' said Byleth. 

'Don't. There's still so much I need to do.' Dimitri sighed. 'Fhirdiad's troops are ready to join our army and I need to talk to the Master of Treasury about provisioning our soldiers. Perhaps a deal could be made with the merchants and the guild masters, as well.' 

'Good luck with that.' 

'You're helping me--' Dimitri caught himself. 'That was one of your jokes, wasn't it?'

Byleth opened his eyes again and moved so he was facing Dimitri. 'Perhaps.' 

'Would you help me, professor?' said Dimitri. 

'I didn't get this far to stop now,' said Byleth. 'Besides, I don't want you to fuck up my excellent record-keeping.' 

He grabbed Dimitri's collar and pulled him low enough to kiss. As Dimitri sighed against his mouth and held him close, Byleth thought of the decision he had made all those years ago, on his first week at Garreg Mach. He had chosen differently in other histories, but here and now he stood beside Dimitri--his haunted and beautiful prince, the man who had reached out when Byleth had felt the most alone. 

He had also come home.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since the last update. Thanks for reading! ♡ I took a break to participate in m!dimileth week on tumblr and twitter. Everyone made such good content, so please check them out if you haven't already!
> 
> If you recruit Annette to Golden Deer, she'll tell you she saw her father carrying Dimitri's corpse away from Gronder Field ;__; I don't know if Dedue stuck around long enough to see, but I'm sure he knows the Kingdom lords won't leave Dimitri to just rot there ;__; 
> 
> Also I made an outline for this fic you know, so I'll be on track even when I switch routes, but for some reason I just ignored what I wrote in the outline about Rodrigue's death happening in the last chapter and included a blowjob instead?? So that pushes everything back and now I'm unsure lmaoo. 
> 
> Thanks for getting this far! See you soon! ♡


	12. Azure Moon: Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Dimitri head closer to Enbarr.

i. Garland Moon

News of Adrestian forces marching for Arianrhod reached the War Council just as they were heading out of Fhirdiad. Byleth had heard of Arianrhod but couldn't remember if Lord Rowe had ever required the services of Jeralt's group there. He took note of Yuris's grimace as their scout finished relaying her report. 

'This could spell trouble for us,' said Yuris; the look he exchanged with Sylvain reeked of displeasure. 

'Indeed. Now we've retaken the capital, more lords from western Faerghus are swearing vassalage to the Kingdom again.' Dimitri sighed and rubbed at his temples with one hand. 'But the Empire couldn't afford to give up on Arianrhod--the tactical advantages it offers are too good.' 

'Let's go,' said Byleth, tapping his fingers against the polished surface of the table. He would miss Castle Fhirdiad's simple but comfortable furniture once they started marching again. 

'Now?' said Dimitri, looking up at Byleth. 

'Before Adrestia finishes fortifying Arianrhod, yes.' 

'That's unexpected. You've been so cautious since the war started.' There was a faint teasing note in Dimitri's voice. 

'That was then,' said Byleth. 'But the strength of Fhirdiad's forces and the former Leicester's armies joining our numbers give us more leeway.' 

'I was thinking the same,' said Dimitri. 'But I feel more at ease hearing you say so.' 

Yuris sighed and leaned back against his seat. 'Guess there's no helping it. I've been hoping to avoid Rowe, though.' 

'I know how that feels,' said Caspar. 

'Is it true what they say of Arianrhod?' said Dedue. 

'They say a lot of things about the Silver Maiden,' said Yuris, winking at Dedue. 'But if you mean, is it as bad as Fort Merceus? I've never been to Merceus, so I don't know.' 

'Maybe we need to compare notes,' said Caspar. He didn't sound too happy about the prospect, but he'd never been one for the pen and paper aspects of war. 

'Speaking of notes,' said Constance, raising her hand. 'I would like to suggest a detour.'

'Yes?' said Byleth. 

'Since the monastery is on the way back from Rowe, I would like to make a stop for Garreg Mach,' said Constance. 'The School of Magic has a sizable library, but there are books that exist only in Abyss.' 

'You're right,' said Annette, leaning over the table so she can look at Constance. 'We may need to look through the Shadow Library for information on those automata.' 

'That's not a bad idea, actually,' said Seteth. 'We might as well check how the troops we left to guard the monastery are faring. If of course you agree, Your Grace?' 

'I agree with what Dimitri decides,' said Byleth.

Dimitri looked like the glow of dawn after a long cold night. 'Then let us make the detour.' 

With their decisions made, the War Council filed in loose groups out of the great hall of Castle Fhirdiad. Byleth stayed seated, half-listening to conversations that shifted from the war efforts to what the cooks were making for dinner. 

'Thank you,' said Dimitri. He had moved only to pull his chair closer to Byleth's. 

'What for?' Byleth held out a hand as Dimitri opened his mouth. 'I'm only glad we could finally show a united front to the War Council.' 

'I've been quite a burden,' said Dimitri. 

'Yes.' Byleth smiled to take the sting out of his agreement and reached out for Dimitri's hand. 'And you're seeking to make amends. We do notice and appreciate your efforts, Dimitri.' 

Dimitri lifted Byleth's hand to his lips. 

'And would you claim your reward, Your Highness?' said Byleth. 

Dimitri laughed silently, his breath warm against Byleth's skin. 'Would you miss the comforts of my bed once we go back to sleeping in tents?' 

'You know I would.' Byleth sighed. He had learned a few things about himself while sharing Dimitri's chambers in Castle Fhirdiad. Byleth was no stranger to rough accommodations; while Garreg Mach gave no preferential treatment to its noble students and staff, the room he'd been given was practically luxurious compared to the musty pallets and hard floors he'd endured as a mercenary. 

But Dimitri was the lord of Castle Fhirdiad, accorded with all the trappings that came with the title, including a bed Byleth wished he never had to leave. 

So many people were suffering, but here was Byleth eating his full of hothouse fruits and sprawling himself across the bed of a nearly crowned king: how low he had fallen. 

'You're thinking of the growing gap between the nobility and commoners again,' said Dimitri. 

'And you?' This was unfair: Dimitri had told Byleth about the years he had spent in the slums while on the run from the Dukedom's forces. He was perhaps the first Blaiddyd for generations to experience life with commoners. 

'As with the tradition surrounding Crest-bearers, it's not far from my mind.' 

'I'm sorry,' said Byleth. 'But I already knew that.'

'Now you're just teasing,' said Dimitri, smiling as he stood up and offered Byleth his arm. 'Shall we savour our remaining moments on a soft bed while we can?'

'I think it's for the best,' said Byleth, linking his arm with Dimitri's and letting the prince lead the way back to his elegantly appointed chambers. 

*

The allied Kingdom forces made good time on the way to Rowe; Byleth reckoned they'd reach Arianrhod before the end of the month. Yuris had sent some of his men ahead once they set foot on Magdred Way and on the fourth day of his scouts' deployment, he arrived at the mess hall late for dinner with a grim expression on his face. 

'Hanneman's been appointed to Arianrhod,' he said, flatly. 'And there are rumours that Vestra is leading the troops that had been sent there for reinforcement.' 

'Well now,' said Dedue, handing Yuris a bowl of stew. 'There's time enough for that. Get something in your stomach first.' 

Yuris opened his mouth to protest, but the rich spicy scent of the stew must have made him reconsider because he accepted the bowl and sat down next to Ashe without saying anything. 

Byleth knew Yuris took mealtime seriously; he wouldn't have interrupted dinner if this new information hadn't upset him. 

'So the old man chose to serve the Empire after all,' said Manuela, clicking her tongue. 'I can't say I'm surprised, but that does mean we have to face two very powerful mages once we get to Arianrhod.'

'Should have raised your resistances when you had the chance,' said Ashe, bumping his shoulder against Caspar. 

'Oh shut up.' 

'He taught your class when you went to Officers Academy, didn't he?' said Manuela. 

Yuris sighed. 'For what it's worth, yes he did.' 

'Maybe we shouldn't have made friends at all when we were at the Academy,' said Annette. 'That would have made things much simpler.'

'We couldn't have expected this war to happen,' said Dedue. He handed Annette a plate of biscuits, which cheered her up considerably. 

'But the Emperor did,' said Dimitri, his voice low. 'Playing at being a student,' he repeated the words Hubert had said, on the day Edelgard revealed herself as the Flame Emperor. 'What had she been thinking?' 

'We can always ask,' said Byleth. 

Dimitri looked up, his eyes widening. 'You don't think that's a bad idea?'

'It's never a bad idea to look for ways to avoid bloodshed,' said Byleth. 'You told me that.' 

'And yet here I am, with my hands stained with the blood of the innocent.' Dimitri let out a rush of breath that could have been a sigh or a laugh. 'Why do you listen to me, professor?' 

'Because you have things to say.' Byleth reached across the table for some of Dedue's biscuits. His lack of manners made Manuela cry out in dismay, but at least it made Yuris laugh. 

'What an example to show your former students,' said Manuela. 

'I was a mercenary.' Byleth grabbed Dimitri's hand so he could place half of the biscuits on Dimitri's palm. 'Dedue's biscuits are really good.' 

'I--' said Dimitri, looking at the biscuits on his hand. 'Yes, they are.' 

'Perhaps we can convince Professor Hanneman to surrender peacefully,' said Annette. 

Byleth thought of Annette's suggestion when he caught up with Hanneman in the inner bailey of Arianrhod. But the look on Hanneman's face told Byleth his former colleague had already made a decision. 

'It's too bad I wouldn't be able to finish my investigations on the Crest of Flames,' said Hanneman, shaking his head. 'But you've been quite a thorn on the Emperor's side, professor.' 

'I'm sorry to hear that.' Byleth swung the Sword of the Creator forward, willing Sothis's bones to extend and move. 

At the same time, Hanneman cast his spell and hit Byleth with a magical force that felt like an avalanche. 

'Your Grace!' That was probably Yuris. His voice sounded like he was shouting underwater so Byleth couldn't be sure, but the healing spell that enveloped Byleth carried Yuris's signature: like opening the oven door and feeling a warm rush of air that smelled of freshly baked bread and the sweet tang of apples. 

Byleth gritted his teeth and held his ground. Yuris's healing and the Crest of Flames had kept him upright, the strength coming back to his limbs as the Sword of the Creator tore at Hanneman's side. 

Hanneman screamed as he fell, clutching at his shoulder as if to staunch the blood that soaked his woollen coat. 

'Poor professor,' said Yuris, taking out his dagger. 'I was a cuckoo among a flock of hawks and you didn't even know I bear the Crest of Aubin--'

Hanneman gasped. The old man was clearly in a lot of pain, but under the film of blood Byleth could swear Hanneman's eyes were as sharp as ever. 

'But you treated me fairly,' Yuris went on, hunkering down in front of Hanneman. 'You and Gwendal. Sorry it has to be like this.' 

Hanneman muttered something Byleth didn't catch and Yuris laughed. 'And now you know. Do you choose to go swiftly, professor?' 

Byleth watched as Yuris held Hanneman's head gently, his lips moving as if in silent prayer before sliding the blade of his dagger across Hanneman's throat like a warm knife on butter. 

'I could have done that,' said Byleth. 

'I thought you'd already left.' Yuris looked up in surprise. 'The prince is leading our men to the Western Gate. Vestra has positioned his own troops there.'

'Thank you.' With a flick of his wrist, Byleth shook the blood from his sword before sliding it back into its sheath. 'Will you be all right on your own?' 

'I won't be,' said Yuris, pointing at the sky. 

Byleth looked up and saw Ingrid flying towards them on her pegasus. 

'We'll take care of the rest, Your Grace,' she called out. 'His Highness requires your presence.' 

Byleth gave his former students a shallow bow before heading out of the inner bailey. He saw Manuela standing near the south entrance, but she didn't seem to notice him walk past her on his way back to the outer walls. He thought of offering her words of comfort, but decided to leave without saying anything.

*

Wresting Arianrhod from Imperial control took its toll on morale instead of resources. The allied Kingdom forces suffered few losses, but they'd had to fight against their own countrymen in both Fhirdiad and Rowe; there was a sombreness to their celebrations that night even if the beer flowed freely and the music was light. 

Byleth scanned the great hall with some difficulty--he wasn't a small man, but so many of his generals still towered over him--and found no trace of blond hair and wolf pelt. 

'He headed straight for the library after the battle,' said Dedue, leaning close so Byleth could hear him above the din. 

'Did he even stop to eat dinner?' 

Dedue sighed and said nothing, which told Byleth all he needed to know. 

'Thank you, Dedue,' said Byleth, patting Dedue's arm. 'Why don't you sit down and have a drink? I'll take care of this.'

'I can have a tray of food prepared for you and His Highness.' Dedue bowed and made to head for the kitchen. 

'That's very kind.' Byleth pulled Dedue back. 'But it's best for Dimitri to celebrate with everyone, don't you think?' 

Dedue seldom smiled, but when he did his whole face lit up and his sharp features looked less harsh. 'Indeed.' 

'Just make sure to save me some of that spiced rum,' said Byleth, before heading for the library. 

By virtue of being located in the part of Faerghus that wasn't given to famine, there was wealth in the Silver Maiden and her lord saw no reason to hide the fact. Its architecture sought to rival that of Castle Fhirdiad and Byleth could even see the Adrestian influences in the elaborate friezes that adorned the doorframes of the keep. 

The library in Arianrhod could be likened to an overgrown study. Byleth stopped to look at a glass case which seemed to contain all the coins that have been minted in Faerghus since the reign of Loog. They started stamping coins with the profile of the ruling monarch during the reign of King Klaus the First--there was a lot of things to be said about monarchs and the line of Blaiddyd, but Byleth had to admit they were all quite blessed in the looks department. 

'Oh,' said Dimitri, hiding a yawn behind one hand. 'It's you.' 

Byleth smiled as he crossed the room to stand in front of Dimitri's desk. 'That's a rare sight.' 

Dimitri sighed. His eye was bloodshot and he looked tired even in the forgiving glow of magelights. 'The work has been catching up on me. Pretend that yawn never happened.'

'You need to rest.' 

'I have put this off for too long,' said Dimitri. 'And the Kingdom has suffered from my neglect--' he held out his hand when Byleth tried to protest. 'The Dukedom had perpetuated a system full of corruption and abuse in my absence. Correcting that system as much as I can is but a small part of my atonement.' 

'Dimitri,' said Byleth. 'Don't exchange one obsession for another.' 

For a moment Byleth thought Dimitri would lash out; the flash of anger in his eye and the way his jaw tightened betrayed what his voice didn't when he said, 'Is that what you think?' 

'I've seen the seeds of the change you wish to bring upon Faerghus take root in Fhirdiad,' said Byleth. 'I respect and admire what you're doing--'

'Then why--'

'All I ask is you don't push yourself too hard.' Byleth reached across the table to hold Dimitri's left hand. 'Atonement doesn't equal punishment.' 

Dimitri tried to pull away, but Byleth held on and met Dimitri's glare as calmly as he could until Dimitri leaned down to rest his forehead on Byleth's hand. 

'Will you keep doing this?' said Dimitri, his voice was muffled but Byleth still heard the chagrin in his tone. 

'All the time,' said Byleth. 'Whenever you forget.' 

Dimitri turned to face Byleth. 'Do you promise?' 

'Yes.' Byleth wanted to run his hand through Dimitri's hair, but Dimitri was still resting his head on Byleth's right hand and the angle was too awkward for Byleth to reach out with his free hand. 'Dimitri--'

'Hm.' Dimitri kissed the back of Byleth's hand before letting go and sitting upright. 'Did you come here to scold?' 

Byleth laughed. 'I came here to steal you away to the celebrations in the great hall.' 

Now he was free to touch Dimitri's hair as he pleased, so he did. Dimitri must have taken a bath after the battle, because his hair was still a bit damp and Byleth caught the faint scent of thyme as he pushed the fringe from Dimitri's face. 

'Do you remember,' said Dimitri. 'Years ago, when I asked you to join us for celebrations in the dining hall?' 

'Yes,' said Byleth. He hadn't realised at the time, but Dimitri's countless little gestures had done a lot to make him feel welcome--not only among the students but also among people in general. He'd been so unused to being alive. 

'Things were much simpler then,' said Dimitri, shaking his head. 'Once in a while, I do wish to join the merriment. But is that acceptable, when I've caused so much pain and suffering?'

'How do you mean?' 

'Everyone who chose to join me has lost someone they loved dearly,' said Dimitri. 'Rodrigue said it was a choice they made, to fight for what they believed in. But to make merry among the people I've failed--how can I, when my very presence is a reminder of what they have lost?'

'Perhaps it is,' said Byleth, tilting Dimitri's face up so he would look Byleth in the eyes. 'But you are our king and to many people--the same people who have lost their loved ones in this war--you're also a reminder of our hope.' 

'Professor.'

Byleth wiped the tears from Dimitri's cheek and relished the sound of Dimitri's surprised laugh when he licked his thumb afterwards. 'Everyone is waiting for you, Dimitri.'

'Do you really think so?' Dimitri waited for Byleth's nod. 'Shall we go then? Together?' 

Byleth offered Dimitri his arm, pressing closer than propriety allowed when Dimitri stood up to follow his lead. 

*

ii. Garland Moon

Byleth knocked before entering the Shadow Library. The formality would have been strange in Garreg Mach, but down in the Abyss, such habits meant not being stabbed in the gut upon entering a room. 

A woman wearing the sleek robes of a warlock looked up as he walked inside, nodding when he offered her the mercenary's sign of peace. Byleth remembered her from when he'd needed to check historical records and obscure recipes, and he was almost sure she was a librarian--if a library full of forbidden books had anything as normal as a librarian--but she went back to reading her book without saying a word. The librarians from the monastery would have been more solicitous, more aware of shelves the public wasn't allowed to access, but the ones from Abyss seemed not to care at all. 

'Ingrid?' 

He found her curled up in a corner, her back against a pile of books as she read what looked like a half-burned pamphlet. 

'Professor,' said Ingrid, her guilt obvious even in the soft magelights. 'Has it gotten very late?' 

'Yuris was getting worried,' said Byleth. 

'Oh no.' She stood up, holding the pamphlet up to cover her flushed face. 'I was supposed to train with him this afternoon. Is he angry?' 

'Wondering why you missed dinner, more like,' said Byleth. He tilted his head as he tried to read the words on the pamphlet cover. 'Riveting stuff?' 

'Quite,' said Ingrid. She had the nobleman's tendency for understatement and she laughed when Byleth raised an eyebrow. 'Actually, it's very interesting indeed. It's about travelling players and the shows they'd put on before the establishment of Garreg Mach.' 

'You can tell me about it on the way to the dining hall,' said Byleth. 

'Oh,' said Ingrid. 'I thought I'd missed dinner.'

'Yuris saved you a couple servings.' Byleth offered Ingrid his arm, which she took, but not before returning her pamphlet on the shelf. 

'We're not allowed to take them out,' she explained. 

'Is that why Constance camps out here sometimes?' Byleth nodded at the librarian as he and Ingrid passed her on the way out. 

'She and Annette are deep into their study of technomancy,' said Ingrid, with a rueful laugh. 'I've learned a lot about the history of magic helping them look for books.' 

'I should help out more,' said Byleth. He'd been busy helping Alois with the Knights of Seiros paperwork, but he reckoned he had time to spare for researching magical automata with Constance and Annette. 

'I did miss the library here,' said Ingrid, looking at her feet. 'Of course, I want to help out as much as I can, but sometimes I get distracted.' 

'Taking breaks is essential,' said Byleth. 'Those two could use a reminder.' 

'Indeed. I managed to convince Constance to get some rest.' Ingrid laughed. 'And she told me all about the travelling players. The subject of their plays betray their pagan origins, you see, and very little of it survives today.' 

'Pagan origins?' Byleth gave the gatekeeper the sign of peace before they left Abyss. The gatekeeper grinned, his salute more cheeky than smart--Byleth preferred the casual attitude over the suspicious treatment he'd gotten during his first visit underground.

'One of the more famous plays is about the travels of Saint Seiros around Fòdlan,' said Ingrid, her voice low. 'They make a big deal about her victories. After her battles, her loyal soldiers would celebrate and she would sit next to the fire as they drink and sing praises to the goddess.'

'I don't see what part of that would get Seteth's pants in a twist,' said Byleth. He'd seen what Seteth had made of books about courtship and seduction; Sylvain had made sure to show Byleth what pages remained of those volumes.

'Well,' said Ingrid. 'They also mention Wilhelm Hresvelg, who later became the first Emperor of Adrestia. It seems he would usually sit next to Saint Seiros during these celebrations. And sometimes they would hold each other close--' 

'Were they lovers?' said Byleth. 

'In the plays, yes.' Ingrid shrugged. 'But we can't know for sure. People like to have romances in their stories, don't they?' 

Byleth nodded. Ingrid continued to talk about the travelling players and their (largely uncredited) influence on the modern arts, but Byleth was only half listening. He made his excuses as he left Ingrid in the dining hall with Yuris and Ashe, who were both more than ready to discuss stories and literary traditions. 

From the dining hall, Byleth left the paved pathways of the courtyard to walk across the grass--the gardeners would be giving him the hairy eyeball if they saw him, but it was late and the only people outside were drinking in pubs or doing some late-night training. Besides, he wasn't going far: there was only a bit of grass to disturb before he was back on the pathway to Officers Academy. 

'I should have brought tea,' said Byleth, once he'd reached the Blue Lions' old classroom. 

Dimitri looked up from the piles of paper stacked on what used to be Byleth's desk. 'Your company is more than enough.' 

'I have spiced rum.' Byleth fished out a flask from his coat and waved it in front of Dimitri's face. 'This is a reversal of roles.'

'I've never offered you drinks while you worked.' Dimitri laughed. 'Should I have?' 

Byleth nodded. 'I would have appreciated it.' 

He cleared a space for himself on the desk, ignoring Dimitri's pointed glare, and settled down for a healthy swig from his flask. 

'Did you need me for something,' said Dimitri, 'or is this a social call?' 

They'd been eating Gautier cheese in the dining hall just an hour ago, but Byleth and the others had taken to dropping by and asking Dimitri to join them for tea and other relaxing activities, just so he'd remember to take breaks. 

'If it's the latter?' said Byleth.

Dimitri looked at the papers that needed his signature but made no move to pick up his quill. 'You could have sat closer,' he said, his face turning pink. 

Dimitri was very cute for a large man who had a tendency to leave a trail of corpses behind his wake. Byleth slid across the table and nearly upset an inkwell. 'Ingrid has shared some interesting stories about Seiros on the way to dinner.' 

'Hm?' said Dimitri. He'd gone back to work, as if Byleth's mere proximity was enough. Any other time, Byleth might have curled up against Dimitri and helped with the paperwork, but right now he had questions. 

'Did you know Wilhelm the First was her lover?' 

Dimitri rubbed the feathery end of his quill against his chin. 'We don't know that.' 

'But you've heard of it?' Byleth drank some more rum before offering the flask to Dimitri. 

'It's apocryphal,' said Dimitri, waving the flask away. 'But the belief is quite persistent with the older folk. My nursemaid told me some stories, and some of the palace guards. Any mention of it has been purged from Church canon.' 

Byleth nodded. It made sense for peasants to maintain the old ways, especially older people who were used to their own brand of worship. 'Edelgard bears the Crest of Seiros.' 

He gave Dimitri a sideways look; Dimitri had stopped reacting to any mention of Edelgard's name with fire and brimstone, but Byleth knew there was too much history tied with memories of Edelgard for Dimitri to feel completely comfortable talking about her with other people. Dimitri simply looked thoughtful in the soft glow of the magelights, so Byleth reckoned he was all right with the topic.

'I haven't thought of that,' said Dimitri. 'The line of Hresvelg might bear some relation to Seiros, yes.' 

'All this connection to the past,' said Byleth. 'Half of Fòdlan belongs in history books, it feels like.' 

'You bear the Crest of Nemesis yourself, professor.' 

Byleth made a face. Then asked the question he'd been meaning to ask, 'When you compared me to Seiros, all those years ago, did you think of yourself as Wilhelm?' 

'What do you--' Understanding made Dimitri's face light up for a moment, and then he was furiously looking at papers again. 'You mean when your hair changed colour.' 

'You thought of yourself as Wilhelm, didn't you?' Byleth brought his face closer to Dimitri's. 

'I was young,' said Dimitri, leaning away from Byleth and avoiding meeting his eyes. 'Kids have dreams of battle and valour.' 

'And becoming a saint's lover, it seems like.' Byleth laughed at the pained sound that escaped Dimitri's lips. 'Macuil, you were surprisingly forward as a teenager.' 

'Professor.' Dimitri's voice rose. 

'You're cute.' 

'Did you come here just to tease?' 

'As a matter of fact,' said Byleth, moving from the desk onto Dimitri's lap. He straddled Dimitri, rocking his hips so he was rubbing against the hard muscles of Dimitri's thighs. Byleth grinned when he felt Dimitri's cock stir in his expensive trousers. 'I did come for other things.'

*

iii. Blue Sea Moon

The War Council had pored over all existing maps of Fort Merceus but, with the exception of the map Caspar had drawn for Byleth, none of them had done justice to the towering fortress that nestled so comfortably in the Mercian mountain range. Caspar had no concept of scale and his drawing skills were debatable, but his scribbled shortcuts and passages gave Byleth a better image of the Stubborn Old General than any of the professionally drawn maps. 

'We just received news from the scouts,' said Sylvain, joining the War Council in Byleth's tent. 'They have spotted the Death Knight and Hevring inside the fortress.'

'And the Imperial forces?' said Dimitri, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip. 

'Sizable,' said Sylvain. 'They're certainly not letting the architecture do the heavy lifting.' 

Byleth sighed. 'Mercedes, Caspar, I would understand if both of you sit this one out.' 

'No, it's fine,' said Caspar. His voice was soft, quite unlike his usual loud whining about having to face his father in battle. 'I've already thought about this. Besides, you need all the people you can get to storm Merceus.' 

Ashe held Caspar's hand and said something Byleth didn't hear. 

Caspar nodded. 'You can count on me,' he said, sounding more like his normal loud self. 

'I feel the same way,' said Mercedes. She turned to Dimitri. 'You have your reasons and regrets, as I do. I think it's time I faced Emile again.' 

'Thank you,' said Dimitri, giving them a shallow bow. 'And be careful.' He raised his voice to address the Council. 'You have all studied the maps and memorised our strategies, but Fort Merceus is a treacherous place that shouldn't be underestimated. Fall back if you must.' 

'You sound like you have brains for once,' said Felix. 

'And you act like you've never agreed with anything I've said in the past few months,' said Dimitri, without heat. 

'Even a stopped clock can be right twice a day.' Felix shrugged. 'I doubt we'd make it this far if not for the professor.' 

'I certainly won't disagree with that.' Dimitri turned to Byleth. 'The Death Knight is waiting for us in that damnable fortress.' He leaned close so Mercedes wouldn't hear, 'His obsession with you bothers me. Be careful out there, professor.' 

'Would you save me if I'm in trouble?' said Byleth, looking up at Dimitri. 

'Just like you were the heart of the Blue Lions, you have become the heart of the allied Kingdom forces,' said Dimitri. 'Of course I would.' 

Sylvain met Byleth's eyes and laughed, shaking his head. 'My prince, you still have much to learn.' 

'Learn what?'

'Forget it.' Byleth sighed. 'Did the scouts spot any of the automata inside the fortress?' 

'Doesn't look like it,' said Sylvain, giving Dimitri a pat on the shoulder while Dimitri tried to catch Byleth's attention. 'They mentioned seeing a couple of demonic beasts, but that seems to be it.' 

'Good news for us,' said Byleth. 'But I think Annette and Constance would be disappointed.' 

'Well,' said Annette. She frowned as she gathered the research notes she and Constance had left scattered on the table. 'I'm glad we don't have to fight them, but I have to admit I'd appreciate more data.' 

'I doubt we've seen the last of them,' said Dimitri, finally distracted from his attempt to ask Byleth what Sylvain had been talking about. 'Even if Cornelia was skilled enough in technomancy to make those automata move, she wouldn't have been able to craft the mechanical parts on her own.' 

'She wasn't acting alone,' said Annette, softly. 'I did hear--that is, my mother told me how she remembered Cornelia to be a soft-spoken and scholarly mage when Cornelia first joined the court in Fhirdiad.'

'You told me about that.' Byleth turned to Dimitri. 'About how her personality and tastes changed all of a sudden.' 

'Just like Solon,' said Dimitri, rubbing his lower lip. 'And that woman who killed Sir Jeralt.' 

Byleth realised he had clenched his jaw and tried to relax. 'Kronya,' he said. 'Do you think they were working together?' 

'It's certainly a possibility.' Dimitri sighed. 'The more information we uncover about that dastardly plot, the more confusing it gets.' 

'We'll get there.' Byleth patted him on the arm. 'We've got some smart people on our side, too.' 

Dimitri laughed. 'Right you are. But before that, I suppose we have an impregnable fortress to take.' 

'The things you make us do,' said Felix, shaking his head. He didn't bother to hide his smile. 

'Shall we?' Sylvain offered his arm to Mercedes, who laughed and curtsied before accepting. Byleth had no idea how much Sylvain knew about Mercedes's connection to the Death Knight, but he must have noticed the way her eyes looked too bright and how she kept biting her lip. Back in his Academy days, Sylvain's uncanny knack for noticing details and knowing how to use that knowledge for his own benefit had led to the breaking of both trust and the hearts of many eligible maidens. Now they were at war, Sylvain put his skills to better use and proved himself a capable spymaster. 

Which was a good thing because the future king of Faerghus would fail to recognise subtleties unless they came kitted out with helpful labels. Dimitri hadn't even realised Byleth had been flirting with him earlier. 

Byleth smiled to himself as he followed the War Council out of the tent, half-listening to the conversation Dimitri was having with Caspar. 

'You grew up in Fort Merceus?' said Dimitri.

'It's part of the Bergliez territory and my father spent most of his time here.' Caspar shrugged. 'Haven't been back since the war started, though, so I wouldn't bet on the accuracy of that map I drew.' 

'Even so, your knowledge has been invaluable to the Council,' said Dimitri. He was walking ahead of Byleth so Byleth couldn't see Dimitri's face, but there was a note of ruefulness in his voice. 'I owe you.'

Caspar had tilted his head to the side and Byleth braced himself for a possible fight; Caspar had calmed down some since the onset of war, but he had enough justifiable reasons to challenge Dimitri to a duel if he was so inclined. 

Instead, Caspar laughed and punched Dimitri's arm. 'You can pay me back by not dying, prince.' 

'He's worth the patience, isn't he?' said Manuela, leaning close to Byleth. 'I have to say I'm a bit jealous; he did grow up to be such a good-looking young man.' 

Byleth laughed. 'I don't like my chances with you as a rival.' 

'I do miss that honey tongue of yours.' 

'It is at your service.' Byleth bowed. 'If we survive this, how about a drink in celebration?' 

'We'll survive, or my name isn't Manuela Casagranda,' she said, flatly. 'You kept your side of the bargain and stood by the prince despite his moods and bad decisions. I'll continue to keep mine.' 

Byleth stopped walking, barely registering Alois bumping into him as he looked at Manuela. 'I thought you'd forgotten.' 

'All of these people: friends, former students, former lovers, and those I wouldn't have met if not for this war,' said Manuela, gesturing at the soldiers falling into formation at the command of their generals. Her movement was elegant but spare; Byleth wondered what she'd been like on-stage. 'I do care about them, you know.' 

Byleth shook his head. 'The Emperor should have listened to you more.' 

'I do wish--' Manuela caught herself and laughed. 'But what's the use of wishing, when all this blood has already been spilled?'

'We must end this war soon,' said Dimitri, who had doubled back to wait for Byleth. 'Before more people are killed.' 

Byleth nodded, letting Dimitri help him get on his horse--as much as he wished he could fight on his feet, Fort Merceus was one of the last places in Fòdlan where he wanted to learn about the truth of cavalry advantages. 

'It won't be long until we reach Enbarr,' said Byleth. Dimitri's hand lingered too long on his thigh and Byleth smiled but didn't pull away. 

'Yes,' said Dimitri. 

'And so we make new plans.' Byleth reached out to push Dimitri's fringe away from his face. 'But for now, we face the Stubborn Old General.' 

'Would you make him kneel, professor?' said Caspar, flying low on Mook. 

'He has a king kneeling for him every night,' said Sylvain, with a wink. 'What more is a general?' 

'Language, Sylvain,' said Byleth, looking to see if Dimitri would take offence. 

Dimitri's face had turned pink and he took his hand off Byleth's thigh, but he did nothing more than roll his eyes at Sylvain. 'If you'd remember there are ladies present, Gautier.' 

'So you haven't heard the little ditty the ladies have been singing about you two?' said Sylvain, all wide eyes and innocence. 

'Sylvain!' 

Byleth laughed, covering his mouth as Dimitri turned to glare at him. 'I wanted to see you get flustered earlier.' 

' _That_ was what you meant?' said Dimitri. 

'I did say it's not important.' Byleth let his hand fall so Dimitri would see him smile. 'And I still got what I wanted in the end.' 

Dimitri shook his head. 'May this General fall to his knees before you, professor.' 

Byleth looked at the towering walls of the fortress that loomed over the allied Kingdom army. They had no choice but to take Fort Merceus by force: backed by both Enbarr and Bergliez, Merceus was not only armed to the teeth but also well prepared for a siege. The Adrestian army could afford to bide their time while the Kingdom forces worried about their troops and provisions. 

'You all know what to do,' said Byleth, nodding as his generals moved back to issue commands to their battalions. 

'Do your best out there,' said Manuela. Beside her, Mercedes gave Byleth the sign for luck. 

He couldn't think of better people to have at his back in the middle of battle. Comforted by the thought of Manuela and Mercedes looking out for the allied Kingdom army, Byleth ordered his men forward as he led the charge against Merceus. 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah that's a lot of talking isn't it? Anyway, I just really wanted to write a scene that references that book in the Shadow Library. [The things Dimitri said](https://eatingfireflies.tumblr.com/post/628929225366306816/yall-ever-wonder-what-he-meant-to-say-and-then-u%22), is2g.


	13. Azure Moon: Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Dimitri find out more about the tragedy in Duscur.

i. Blue Sea Moon 

Deep in Adrestian territory, the allied Kingdom forces made camp in Fort Merceus. Byleth was getting used to the worry that settled more heavily in his gut the closer they got to Enbarr, a dull pain that bloomed into the paralysing shock of being run through with the blunt end of a spear when he and the War Council were informed of Dimitri's decision to allow Mercian civilians to stay or leave the fortress as they pleased.

'You are serious?' said Byleth, abandoning diplomacy. From the corner of his eye he saw Dedue stir. 

'Come now, professor,' said Dimitri. He reached across the table for Byleth's hand, but stopped midway when Seteth cleared his throat loudly from behind Byleth's right shoulder. 'You know this is the right thing to do.' 

Byleth sighed and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. 'Perhaps. Would it hurt to limit their movements inside Merceus for the time being?' 

'His Grace has a point, Your Highness,' said Dedue. 'There's too much risk involved in opening the gates of the fortress right now.'

'I know,' said Dimitri. 'But commoners have little say in the wars their monarchs wage; they shouldn't be punished for what they have no control over.' 

'Adrestian spies aren't above using civilians to their advantage,' said Yuris, holding out a hand when Dimitri opened his mouth. 'But spies would do what they need to do. Gautier and I take necessary precautions to keep the leak of information at a minimum.' 

'All this sneaking around,' said Caspar, pushing his chair back. 'Sounds pretty cowardly to me.' 

'It's no different from assessing your opponent before engaging them in battle. Something you need to keep in mind, by the way,' said Byleth. He smiled when Caspar rolled his eyes. 'I _was_ your professor.' 

'But I've received word from my friends in Abyss,' Yuris went on, staring at Dimitri with his head held high. 'Someone's been paid to make sure you don't reach Enbarr, prince.' 

'Hey, why am I only hearing this now?' Sylvain's voice strained to remain mild. Beside him, Felix laughed. 

'I assume because the person who took the job is from Abyss,' said Dimitri, waiting for Yuris's nod before continuing. 'Then the information is probably trustworthy. We'll have to tighten our security.' 

There was a pause as everyone waited for Yuris's reply, but he remained silent. 

'And the citizens of Abyss?' said Constance. 

'To punish the whole of Abyss for the decision of one individual goes against the nature of the place, surely?' Dimitri laughed, not unkindly. 'Our main concern is to make sure no one gets hurt.'

'And how do you propose we do that,' said Byleth, 'when you plan to spread the Old General's legs and ready for fu--'

Seteth's throat clearing evolved into an urgent coughing fit. 

'My allies are strong,' said Dimitri, looking around the room. 

Byleth knew he wouldn't like where Dimitri was taking that speech, but he found himself wanting to rise to Dimitri's challenge anyway. Whatever his faults, Dimitri had the charisma of a leader--and a vision to match. His job was to pull everyone up with him, while the likes of Byleth scrambled to make sure he didn't fall. 

'Whatever I have achieved, I owe to every person in the allied Kingdom army.' Dimitri gave them a shallow bow. 'If I could fight this war on my own and spare everyone from suffering or death, I would--' 

'Dimitri,' said Byleth. The army's generals and Dimitri's former classmates also murmured their protests. Each one of them had a reason to stand against the Empire, no matter their feelings for the Faerghus prince. 

'But as it were, it's the duty of the strong to help those who are weak, is it not?' Dimitri finished. 

'That's true,' said Caspar. 'I don't always agree with your justice--yours or Ashe's--but I can't contest that.' He slammed his palm on the table when Sylvain and Ingrid voiced their concerns for Dimitri's safety. 'What's your strength for, your Crests and your relics, if not to protect the weak?' 

'Thank you for making us look like a bunch of cowards, Bergliez.' Sylvain's tone was wry, but he was smiling. 'I do see your point, but I'd be lying if I say this decision won't keep me up at night.' 

'Your men from Abyss,' said Ashe, turning to Yuris. 'They have their own channels for gathering information, yes?' 

Yuris grinned. 'I can see how you survived before Lonato adopted you.' 

'Just answer the question,' said Ashe, while Caspar laughed loudly. 

'The option to play faster and smarter is open to us,' said Yuris, slouching on his seat. 'Looks like I won't be getting any sleep either.' 

'Then are we agreed?' said Dimitri, looking at Byleth. 

'Very well,' said Byleth. 'But take no unnecessary risks.' He stood up, forcing everyone else to follow suit. 'And for the love of Macuil, if you hear anything--any gossip or rumour or whisper about any small detail--tell me and Dimitri.' 

'The cook has complained about Sylvain chatting up her assistants,' said Annette, raising her hand. 

'He meant anything out of ordinary,' said Felix. 

There was a note of relief in the War Council's laughter when Byleth finally smiled. He felt uneasy with how his own mood could affect the tension in the room. That kind of power worked like intoxicating wine on those who possessed authority over others but served only to make Byleth overly conscious of how he expressed emotions. 

He gave the War Council a bow before exiting the great hall, thinking of a time not long ago when he'd been feared for his emotionless face: the infamous Ashen Demon who killed without flinching. And now he sought to keep his anger behind a mask of grace and calmness--for someone who was stuck in time like him, it was perhaps appropriate. 

'Professor?' 

Byleth paused on his way to the battlements of Merceus and waited for Dimitri to catch up. 

'You're still angry with me,' said Dimitri, offering Byleth his arm and looking relieved when Byleth accepted. 'Where to?'

'Strange events led me to stand among the peers of the realm,' said Byleth, steering Dimitri towards the door leading out of the keep. 'But I'm as common as they come.' 

'I wouldn't quite call the son of the Blade Breaker common,' said Dimitri. He raised his free hand when Byleth glared at him. 'Would you rather I talk about your uncommon beauty?' 

'I don't know where you learned to speak like that,' said Byleth. 

'Weren't you the one who taught me how to make jokes, professor?'

Byleth laughed and elbowed Dimitri's side. 'Will you say you learned your bad habits from me, as well?'

'Unfortunately,' said Dimitri, kissing Byleth's hand, 'I learned them all on my own.' 

'I'd be in a false position if I oppose your decision,' said Byleth. 'I'm a commoner and have made my living as a knife protecting commoners--I can't side with the nobility against them.'

'I knew you wouldn't.' Dimitri squeezed Byleth's hand. 'And I stand by what I told the Council.' 

'And yet.' Byleth bumped his head against Dimitri's shoulder, a reassurance and a way to hide his face from Dimitri's questioning gaze. 'This goes against every part of me that wants you alive.' 

Dimitri breathed in, sharp and surprised, but he kept his silence for a few heartbeats--perhaps to think of a proper response. 

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't think.'

'There are of course political reasons,' said Byleth, with a small smile. 'No one needs to know about my selfishness.' 

'No, you're right. I'm not--' Dimitri's steps slowed as he stumbled on his words. 'I'm not used to reckoning with other people in mind.'

Dimitri hadn't told anyone about his plans for revenge--Byleth had known only that it existed, but not the extent of Dimitri's research and certainly not whom he suspected, until it was too late. 

'He wouldn't have wanted you to get involved in his vendetta,' said Byleth. 

'Hm?' Dimitri had stepped in front of Byleth to push the main door open, but he looked back with a confused frown. 

'That's what you told Ashe back in Gaspard,' said Byleth. 'That's how you felt as well, wasn't it?' 

'How do you remember these things?' 

'I don't remember anything before Garreg Mach.' Byleth shrugged. 'There's twenty years' worth of unused space in there.' 

Dimitri laughed but didn't answer Byleth's question. Instead, he bowed Byleth through the door even if he had to move with Byleth since their arms were still linked. 

Once outside, Byleth had to let go so he'd be free to draw his sword if need be. He scanned the area surreptitiously, only half paying attention as Dimitri started talking about the availability of resources to Adrestians who'd chosen to stay. 

Alois had set up guard duty for the Knights of Seiros in various points of Merceus, familiar faces who had stood with Byleth since he'd taken up Lady Rhea's duties. He wouldn't trust them implicitly--they were loyal to the Church, not Faerghus--but their presence still served to reassure him in the crowd of soldiers and civilians that gathered in the bailey. 

'Do you think there's an assassin in Merceus?' said Dimitri, once they'd reached the battlements. 

Byleth shrugged. 'I can't afford not to.' 

'Your presence is as integral to the army as mine,' said Dimitri, leaning against the parapet to look at the vast expanse of Gronder Field rolling gently towards the Mercian mountain range. 

'I wasn't born to rule,' said Byleth. He could lead an army and give advice to the future king, but the rest--the rousing speeches, ideas for reform, and a handsome profile--Dimitri would have to handle; Byleth preferred to stay in the shadows. 'There's no point to the future without you.'

Dimitri smiled, not looking away from Gronder. 'I'll pretend you mean that personally.' 

'Why pretend?' Byleth reached out to tuck Dimitri's fringe behind his ear. 'Don't you think your hair's gotten too long?' 

'Do you hate it?' said Dimitri, running a hand through his hair. 

'No, but in battle--'

'My lords.' Alois waved at them from across the bailey, his voice carrying strong even from a distance. 

He'd been just as loud all those years ago, when Byleth first saw him in Remire. Byleth had pegged Alois for a well-meaning but clumsy man, and perhaps he was, but he had also spent decades serving as a Knight in Garreg Mach. He was used to dealing with rich Academy students and the Crestless nobles who sought prestige in the Knighthood of Seiros; he knew the value of not accidentally stumbling into lustful or seditious activities. Especially when the parties involved could cost a commoner like him his job--or in some cases, his life.

'Yes, Captain?' said Dimitri. 

'A message from Margrave Gautier, my lords,' said Alois, giving them both a shallow bow. 'He says all is well back in Fhirdiad.' 

Byleth met Dimitri's confused look. Such news could wait until after dinner, but Alois had clearly sought them out after hearing what the messenger had to say. 

'The messenger was accompanied by some of my men,' Alois went on. 'Turns out they stopped by the monastery first. Your Highness, they've brought one of Viscount Kleiman's men with them. He has confessed to being involved in the Duscur tragedy.' 

Dimitri took a deep breath. 

'Where is this man?' said Byleth. 

'We're holding him in a cell, Your Grace.' Alois paused, perhaps waiting to see if either Byleth or Dimitri would object to that decision. When they didn't, he went on, 'Gilbert has asked me to fetch you.' 

'Will you come with me?' said Dimitri, turning to Byleth. 

'Of course.' Byleth would be lying if he said he wasn't curious, but he would have gone with Dimitri even if he weren't. This was important to Dimitri, a part of his past that continued to haunt him, and Dimitri wasn't a fool; he knew the truth could hurt as much as set people free. The way his eyes showed too much white and the tense set of his shoulders told Byleth more about Dimitri's doubts than Dimitri himself would care to admit. 

'I'll follow wherever you go,' Byleth added, because Dimitri looked like he needed to hear it. 

'I'll hold you to that,' said Dimitri. The intensity of his pale gaze belied his light tone. 

Byleth said nothing, reaching instead for Sitri's ring which hung from a thin leather strap around his neck. Buried under his layers of clothing, it pressed warm against his skin. The ring weighed almost nothing--especially compared to Byleth's weapons or the tiara he had to wear for official occasions--but what it represented settled heavily in the back of Byleth's mind. 

Choices he had no right to make and a lifetime of consequences: he felt like he was in Officers Academy again and Dimitri the head of his house, beautiful and out of reach. 

'Shall we go, my lords?' said Alois. 

Byleth let his hand drop to his side and squared his shoulders. There was time enough to deal with a future he couldn't pursue, but for now Dimitri needed him and he knew where he needed to stand. 

Surely, this was something history would allow. 

*

ii. Blue Sea Moon

The Knights of Seiros brought the viscount's man to the great hall of Merceus and in front of the War Council. Byleth sat closer to Dimitri than necessary, the arms of their seats almost touching, and received Seteth's glare with the full glory of his Ashen Demon face. Byleth didn't want to make Lady Rhea look like a fool for choosing him as her deputy and had started to defer to Seteth's counsel, but not now. Not when the expression on Dimitri's face made Byleth think of the sun seen through rain-spattered windows. He placed his hand on Dimitri's thigh and watched Seteth shake his head. 

'And what role did you play in the carnage in Duscur?' Dimitri's voice was low and shy of a growl. 

The viscount's man was a mousy person who looked more comfortable hunched over a writing desk than taking part in a plot for regicide. But of course, ambition wasn't exclusive to warriors, or half the nobility would have gotten nowhere. 

The man swallowed, his neck working as he fought to keep eye contact with Dimitri. 

'I would rather not say, Your Highness.' 

'Coward.' The word was said in undertone but whoever had spoken had timed it so the room was quiet and his voice still carried. Byleth was almost sure the speaker was Felix, but he allowed the comment to pass without reproach. 

'Then what _can_ you say?' Dimitri sighed. 'Why stand before us at all?' 

'Your Highness, it was because of guilt that I am here.' 

Byleth gave Dimitri's thigh a reassuring squeeze before tapping the fingers of his free hand against the table. 'What can you tell us about the plans to assassinate King Lambert?'

'Who--' the viscount's man looked inquiringly at Byleth. 

'You're addressing His Grace, the Archbishop Byleth Eisner,' said Seteth, making it sound like a death sentence. 'Keep that in mind.' 

'Right, my lord.' There wasn't a lot of confidence in the man's tone, but to be fair to him, Byleth wouldn't trust himself as a leader of the Church either. His body had stopped changing since he and Sothis had become one. To the casual observer, Byleth was a youth barely out of his teens. 

'And now you have the advantage of me,' said Byleth. 

'Tully, my lor--' the man bowed under Seteth's glare. 'Your Grace. Tully of Kleiman.'

'And my question, Tully?' 

'Your Grace, the viscount was distrustful of King Lambert's radical policies.' Tully addressed Byleth but kept glancing at Dimitri to see how he'd react. 

'And?' said Dimitri. 

'We thought only to protect the Kingdom,' said Tully. 'An alliance with Duscur could ruin the country--'

'We don't know that,' said Ingrid. Her voice sounded steadier as she went on, 'Your liege and his coterie wouldn't know of the famine and hardships in the north. An alliance with Duscur threatened nothing but their coffers.' 

'Thank you,' said Dedue. 

Ingrid nodded at him. 'I was full of suspicions myself. But as I learned more about Duscur, I realised the late king hoped for nothing more than to improve our conditions, both Faerghus and Duscur alike.' 

'I acted according to what I believed was right at the time.' Tully looked at his hands. 'We were given our orders to attack the king and his retinue on the way to Duscur, and so we did.' 

'And the queen?' said Dimitri. 

Dedue moved forward in his seat but Byleth held out a hand. 'I'd like to hear what Tully has to say, as well.' 

'The queen was to be left unhurt,' said Tully. 'We were given explicit orders not to touch her carriage.'

'You're saying Queen Patricia is involved in this conspiracy?' said Dimitri. 

Byleth hadn't heard Dimitri's posh dismissiveness in a while, but he still found that part of Dimitri attractive--the man continued to be a walking reminder of Byleth's moral failures. 

'I beg Your Highness's pardon,' said Gilbert, waiting for Dimitri's nod before continuing, 'But I've been looking into the matter myself after a conversation with the late Lord Fraldarius. I have gathered enough information to think the queen consort _was_ in collusion with Cornelia in this matter.'

'Will you share your findings with the War Council, Sir Gilbert?' said Byleth. 

'Of course, Your Grace.' Gilbert bowed. 'I have correspondences, signed written accounts, and such pertinent records in my possession. I will send them to Lord Sylvain later.' 

'Thank you.' 

'But what good does it serve the queen to have the whole retinue killed?' said Dimitri. 'She wanted to return to her real family, yes. But was it worth the lives of so many people?' 

'It served the queen no good,' said Sylvain. 'But Kleiman and his friends certainly thought it was worth their time. Ingrid's right; I think some of our western friends had rather unpatriotic reasons for opposing the king.' 

'I wanted the best for Faerghus,' said Tully. 

'And yet you're here,' said Dimitri. 

'Do you still believe that, Tully?' said Byleth. 

'Your Grace.' Tully took a deep breath. 'I accept your anger and your punishment, but the king's plans would have led to the fall of Faerghus.'

'What did you expect would happen,' said Dimitri, 'after you kill the king?'

'And the innocent people you have killed,' said Dedue, softly. 'Were they a necessary sacrifice?' 

Tully finally looked down. 'I don't know, my lords.' 

'Fortunately,' said Dimitri, with just a touch of malice, 'you'll have all the time to think upon your actions in the comforts of your cell.' 

'We're not going to execute him, Your Highness?' said Gilbert, as the War Council whispered among themselves. 'This man committed regicide.' 

'I wish to know more about this man's idea of justice,' said Dimitri. 'Make sure to keep a close eye on him.' 

'Understood.' Alois gestured at his men. 'Let's work out a schedule with the Faerghus knights. We also need to decide who will march on to Enbarr with the rest of the army.' 

'Thank you for your hard work.' Dimitri paused to give the War Council a bow before leaving the room. 

Byleth watched him go and thought of the little prince Dimitri used to be, an unknowing reminder to the queen of what she had left behind in Adrestia. 

Once everyone had left the great hall and enough time had passed for a young man to mourn the loss of his mother's love, Byleth rose from his seat to follow Dimitri. 

*

The small chapel in the keep of Merceus was a simple but well-tended place, more cherished by commonfolk than the nobility. Byleth, who was raised outside the faith, saw no reason to go there but he knew Dimitri found comfort in the hushed solemnity afforded by places of worship. He wasn't a religious man, at least not in the way most people defined religious, but he was from Faerghus and their ties with the Church ran deeper than politics. 

Byleth found Dimitri standing in front of the altar, as was his habit all those months ago in Garreg Mach. Despite the contrast in scale, the sight was not much different from Byleth's memory of Dimitri surrounded by the piles of rocks, twisted metal, and shards of coloured glass that used to be the cathedral chancel. 

'Are you all right?' said Byleth. 

'Of course,' said Dimitri, not turning around. He paused and shook his head. 'I'm not. Tell me, professor: how well do you remember your father?' 

'Very well.' Five years had passed for everyone but Byleth. For him, Jeralt's death happened not too long ago. 

'And yet the time will come when memories of our loved ones fade,' said Dimitri. 'I promised myself I would never forget, but the truth is I don't remember my mother's--' he caught himself, his eyes narrowing, 'that woman's smile, or her voice, any more.' 

Byleth sat down one of the pews, patting the space beside him in invitation. 

'When I think of her, there's only the impression of sadness, of her looking into the distance.' Dimitri sighed as he sat down, leaning close so his arm pressed against Byleth's. 'Did she truly think there was no other way but to exchange the lives of her fake family for her real one?' 

'We can't know for certain what she really thought,' said Byleth. 

'No,' Dimitri laughed, a rush of breath that was almost a sigh. 'I shouldn't be bothering you with these senseless questions.'

'They're important to you,' said Byleth, resting his head against Dimitri's shoulder. 'Do you remember you had to tell me who the four saints were and what they did?' 

'I still don't know how you managed to grow up without knowing anything about the Church.' This time Dimitri's laugh was a proper one, sharp and unforced. 'No one in Sir Jeralt's group ever mentioned them?' 

'Only to curse,' said Byleth, remembering the group of mercenaries he'd grown up with. Fortunately for Seteth and the Church of Seiros, Byleth had been trained out of the worst vocabulary by Marcus--he'd wanted to become a teacher, but having to support his numerous siblings had meant taking up the sword and a lonely grave in Goneril. 'Did you really enjoy talking about catechism?' 

Dimitri coughed. 'Not in particular,' he said, pulling at his tunic to straighten out the creases. Byleth heard the faint sound of fabric tearing. 'I just wanted to spend more time with you.' 

'The truth is, I didn't really care about the saints,' said Byleth. 'But I like listening to you speak.' 

Dimitri turned his face away from Byleth, but not before Byleth caught a glimpse of his red cheeks. 

'When we fought Cornelia she told me I was a pitiful child,' said Dimitri. 'And perhaps I was never loved by the only mother I knew, but I'm not to be pitied. After all, I have my friends and people who support me.'

'I'm glad you remember,' said Byleth, making Dimitri laugh again. 'You do know you can delegate work to other people, right?' 

'Once I've established a better system, then yes.' Dimitri finally looked back at Byleth, cupping Byleth's face in one hand. 

Byleth leaned close just as Dimitri dipped his head down for a kiss. Dimitri's lips were still chapped but to his credit, his kisses were less unsure and not as desperate as when he was younger. His advances were just as urgent, but he had also learned to hold himself back and tease, waiting for Byleth to beg for his attention. 

Byleth wrapped his arms around Dimitri's neck and gasped when Dimitri bit his lower lip. 

'And I have you,' said Dimitri. 'Don't I?' 

'Always.' Byleth sighed as Dimitri pulled away. The chapel wasn't the best place to get carried away and he appreciated Dimitri's prudence, but the thought did little to comfort his hard cock. Byleth looked at the mural of Saint Seiros painted on the ceiling of the chapel and tried not to think of Dimitri's lips around his cock. 'Was Cornelia a close friend of the queen's?' 

'She barely let my parents have a private moment with each other,' said Dimitri. 'Father might as well have married two women.' 

Byleth snorted at the thought; poor King Lambert probably found little joy from what could otherwise have been a pleasant arrangement. 

'Remember what Annette said about Cornelia's possible connection to Solon?' said Byleth. 

'Do you think--' Dimitri cut himself off and tried again, his voice shaking in his effort not to sound too hopeful. 'Then perhaps the queen had been misled?'

'It's a possibility,' said Byleth. 'Remember how Solon killed Kronya the moment she stopped being useful--what are you doing?' 

Byleth had been focusing on the mural and hadn't noticed how Dimitri had moved away from his side to kneel between his legs. 

'Is Seiros really that beautiful?'

'The floor--' said Byleth. 

'I was raised to embrace the ways of the Church,' said Dimitri, patting the kneeler he had pulled down from the pew in front of them. 'And despite the original intent, what I learned has prepared me for this.' 

'What sacrilege.' Byleth laughed, his breath hitching as Dimitri touched him through his trousers. 'Seteth wouldn't approve.' 

'But he is not the Archbishop,' said Dimitri, unbuttoning Byleth's trousers. 

'Dimitri.' Byleth looked around. Religious folk had a habit of saying a prayer to Seiros just before nightfall, those coming back from the fields heading straight for the chapel before going home to dinner. 'Not here.' 

'Is this not similar to worship?' Dimitri's lips twisted into a smile. The look he gave Byleth felt like a sharp pain that pierced his unbeating heart straight to his cock. 

Byleth's hands grasped handfuls of Dimitri's hair, trying to pull Dimitri closer as he freed Byleth's cock from his linens. 

'What do you want, professor?' 

Byleth knew his face had turned red from how warm he felt. He bit his lip. 

'Professor?' Dimitri laughed without sound, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of Byleth's straining cock. 

Byleth wasn't used to dirty talk--he wasn't used to _talking_ in the first place and while he'd picked up the colourful language of Jeralt's group, dropping lewd words in anger was different from saying them in the heat of lust. 

Later on, with Dimitri pounding him against the hard wood of the chapel pew, it wouldn't matter. But poised on the brink of fucking, Byleth's voice broke as he said, 'Suck me off.' 

Dimitri's mouth was warm, his tongue wet and demanding as it pushed Byleth's cock against the roof of Dimitri's mouth. Then Dimitri was sucking him, the pressure sending warm flashes of pleasure to the pit of Byleth's stomach. Byleth arched his back, crying out as he felt Dimitri's throat tightening around him. 

'Dimitri.' Byleth threw his head back to see the painted face of Saint Seiros looking down at him. 'I'm close.'

Dimitri stopped sucking long enough to say, 'Then come.' 

'No,' said Byleth, mumbling against his fist. 

'Yes, professor?'

'I said,' said Byleth, in between soft gasps. Dimitri was kissing the tip of his cock, Dimitri's tongue licking off precome as his fingertips traced feather-light lines across Byleth's balls. 'I want you to fuck me.'

'Hm.' Dimitri dipped his head to leave a trail of kisses down the length of Byleth's cock. 

'Please.' 

'Bear it for me,' said Dimitri, pressing his lips against Byleth's balls. 'For just a little longer.' 

Dimitri's hand moved to stroke Byleth's cock just as he started sucking at Byleth's balls--rough and gentle and warm and wet. Byleth felt like his brain had stopped working and there were only Dimitri's hands and his mouth and his teasing voice. 

'Fuck.' Byleth's voice echoed across the chapel and he pressed his hand against his mouth again. 

Dimitri's face was flushed and his eye had darkened--Byleth knew Dimitri needed only the lightest push, the right words and actions, to give Byleth what he wanted. 

'The faithful will come to say their prayers soon, professor,' said Dimitri. 

'Then hurry,' said Byleth. Dimitri liked when Byleth demanded things--Byleth had no idea why, but he reckoned it had to do with Dimitri wanting to make sure his partner was having a good time. 'Don't stop.'

Dimitri pushed Byleth back onto the seat of the pew, settling himself snugly between Byleth's legs so Byleth could feel the warm hardness of Dimitri's cock pressing against his thigh. Byleth snorted as Dimitri pulled out a vial of oil from his pocket. 

'Do you carry that with you at all times?' 

'My professor taught me the importance of being prepared,' said Dimitri. 'And if someone sees us?'

'They won't.' Byleth reached out to unbutton Dimitri's trousers, his hands shaking with desire and the knowledge that someone might come in to catch the Archbishop begging the Prince of Faerghus to fuck him hard on a damned pew. 'I taught my students the value of time.'

Dimitri smiled as he leaned down to kiss Byleth. Fortunately, he was an excellent student. 

*

Byleth was still trying to convince himself he needed to get off Dimitri's lap when they heard voices and footsteps heading for the chapel. 

'Fuck.' Byleth sat up and fumbled with the buttons of his trousers. 

Dimitri laughed, his voice echoing across the chapel. 'Don't worry, this chapel has a retroquire.' 

'Will that make us invisible?' said Byleth, pinching Dimitri's side. 

'In a way.' Dimitri rose, carrying Byleth with him to the chancel. 'The retroquire is the space behind the altar, where the choir may sit. Don't you remember Caspar's map? Alphonse, the first Lord Bergliez, lies in a sarcophagus there.' 

'Are we going to hide next to a corpse, Dimitri?' said Byleth, thinking of their encounter with the Flame Emperor in the holy tomb. 'I can walk.' 

'But how many times can I carry you to the altar like this, professor?' 

Byleth didn't answer, tugging at Dimitri's earlobe instead as Dimitri hurried to the back of the altar. A retroquire, Byleth reminded himself. For someone with such a practical view on religious faith, Dimitri was very well-versed on the ways of the Church--to be fair, Byleth was sure he'd heard Sylvain quote Scripture a few times before. The Kingdom lords were an interesting bunch. 

'Don't you dare put me down that coffin,' said Byleth. 

'I wouldn't dream of it.' Dimitri lowered Byleth back to his feet next to the stone coffin of Alphonse von Bergliez. 'The evening prayer isn't bound to last long, at least.' 

Byleth placed a hand on the sarcophagus. It took up most of the space in the retroquire, limestone carved in the style before Adrestia started to favour elaborate friezes. An effigy of Lord Bergliez lay on the sarcophagus lid, its hands crossed over its chest in repose. 

'He looks nothing like Caspar, does he?' said Byleth, softly. People had started filing inside the chapel, their voices hushed but no less cheerful as they greeted each other. 

'Maybe the cheekbones,' said Dimitri, stepping closer. 

The evening prayer had started, led by a woman whose tremulous voice suggested old age. Byleth had never bothered to memorise any prayers, much to Seteth's disappointment, but the cadence in the old woman's voice was still soothing even if he didn't know the words himself. She paused for breath rather than grammar, betraying the casual familiarity of someone who'd been saying their prayers aloud for years. 

'I'm surprised the Emperor allows her subjects to worship as they please,' said Byleth. 'Considering how she feels about the Church.' 

'That's why I think--' said Dimitri. He shook his head and began again, 'That is, I made up my mind to try and speak with Edelgard once we reach Enbarr.' 

There was a trace of uncertainty in Dimitri's frown and the questioning look he gave Byleth. 

'I think that's a good idea,' said Byleth, smiling. 'I told you.'

'But you don't think it would change anything,' said Dimitri. 

'No.' 

Edelgard had chosen her path and she wouldn't be Edelgard if she allowed anything less than death to stop her from achieving her goals. 

'I agree.' Dimitri sighed and absently traced the vines carved onto the side of the sarcophagus. 'Hatred had driven me to oppose Edelgard, but now that has changed--a part of me wants to delay the inevitable.' 

Byleth thought of a younger Dimitri, his voice rising as he argued with Byleth about justice and compassion in the fields of Gaspard. Dedue was right; Dimitri was different. He wasn't the idealistic young man looking for revenge or the broken prince standing alone in the altar ruins anymore. This Dimitri had clawed his way out of madness and the curses of the dead, had navigated treasonous schemes and the consequences of war with the practicality of a Faerghus lord. Yet he would put his life at risk for the comfort of a handful of peasants. 

'I'm glad you've found your way back,' said Byleth. 

'I didn't do it alone.' 

'No, it was all me,' said Byleth. 'All thanks to my cute face.' 

Dimitri laughed his private laugh--loud and graceless, with his head thrown back. Close friends had seen him laugh like that, but never the public. 'You're spending too much time with Sylvain and Yuris.' 

'Hush.' Byleth placed two fingers on Dimitri's mouth. 'They'll hear you.'

'The evening prayer has ended.' Dimitri pressed his lips against Byleth's fingers. 'A short prayer of thanks for the day's blessings; people are too tired and hungry for anything more elaborate.' 

'We need to go back before people assume the worst,' said Byleth. 

'You just want dinner, don't you?' 

'Of course.' Byleth took Dimitri's proffered arm. 'The night is long.' 

'So it is,' said Dimitri, guiding Byleth out of the retroquire. 'And if we survive this, we'll have all the time in the world, won't we?'

'We'll survive,' said Byleth. It was what would come after that made him tighten his grip on Dimitri's arm and press himself against Dimitri, as if to commit the feeling of Dimitri's body--his warmth and the supple hardness of his muscles--to memory.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far and until next time! ♡♡
> 
> Oh I forgot to mention: yes you can talk to an assassin in front of the altar in Abyss. And yes, he would imply someone has paid him to take care of the prince. This is before you head off to Enbarr to face Hubert. I found that chilling tbh, because I wasn't expecting it and it added an extra worry for poor Byleth. (Seeing as how they don't travel back to the monastery after every campaign in this fic, Yuris had to mention it instead.)


	14. Azure Moon: Immortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Dimitri end the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter tried to talk about too many things at once, but to any cashepar fan reading this: I see you. ♡

i. Verdant Rain Moon

Castle Enbarr was a great and sprawling edifice that occupied a quarter of the capital's land. A millennium's worth of monarchs have added and subtracted to its whole throughout their reign but fortunately for everyone who had to look at the castle--which was anyone in the capital facing north--recent monarchs were smart enough to hire the best architects in Fòdlan to take charge of what amounted to pissing on the walls. 

Byleth glared at said walls. The entrance hall was big enough to house the Officers Academy and its surrounding grounds--perfect for several platoons and perhaps a demonic beast or two. 

'I haven't been to the palace since I was a kid,' said Caspar, his voice louder than usual in the cavernous hall. 'This place is enormous.' 

'I don't like it,' said Byleth. He was about to call the War Council together to discuss how they would proceed when a beam of light flashed from somewhere deep in the palace.

'Your Highness,' said Dedue, pushing Dimitri aside. The beam of light shot past where Dimitri's heart would have been and tore a chunk from the wall next to Ashe's head. 

'What the fuck?' said Felix at the same time Caspar said, 'Cichol's balls.' 

Constance pressed a gloved finger against the ruined part of the wall and pulled back with a hiss. Byleth caught the smell of burning flesh. 

'Are you all right?' 

'It reeks of old magic,' said Constance, holding out her hand to Byleth. The part of her glove that had touched the walls had been burned black. 'A single blast won't kill, but it _would_ hurt, so I suggest dodging.' 

'You say that like it's easy to do,' said Sylvain. 

'It's not impossible,' said Ashe, looking at the wall behind him. Tendrils of smoke rose from the hole left by the beam. 'It's slower than an arrow, at least.' 

'Thank you, my friend,' said Dimitri, thumping Dedue's shoulder. 'The attack must have come from the throne room. Be vigilant.' 

'That place is miles away from here,' said Caspar. 'What kind of fucking forces does Edelgard have in there?' 

The expression on Dimitri's face closed like a door at the mention of the Emperor's name. Their meeting had gone as well as Byleth had expected, with both leaders unwilling to back down from their ideals. Neither of them was wrong and the whole thing was a matter of perspective; a bloody tale of war and death that could easily be spun into a heroic legend by those who would prove victorious. 

Dimitri knew Edelgard better than Byleth did; he had harboured no false hopes about what he would achieve in parleying with the Emperor. But he had loved her once--perhaps even still--and he was allowed to feel regret about the course their lives had taken. 

'Dimitri,' said Byleth, moving close so no one else would hear him speak. 'Edelgard has issued her challenge.'

'Yes,' said Dimitri. His face was still a mask of neutrality, but his tone asked Byleth why he was telling Dimitri things he already knew. 

'Don't fail her,' said Byleth. 

Dimitri exhaled and Byleth could see Dimitri's shoulder falling back, the tightness at the corners of his mouth easing. 'Yes, of course.' 

'Looks like she's aiming for you,' said Felix, giving Dimitri's arm a none too gentle thump. 'Remember to dodge.'

'You interrupted my wise mentor moment,' said Byleth. 'But that's good advice.' 

'Were you saying something important?' said Felix. 'I thought you were just flirting, like always.' 

'Your words of love are those that cut deep,' said Ingrid, brightly. 

'Oh, shut up,' said Felix. 

'I know that one,' said Constance. 'Wilhelm the First wrote several poems to Saint Seiros--they were love poems, collected and published after Wilhelm's coronation.' She ducked her head in Seteth's direction. 'The slim volume had been banned by the Church.' 

'How come I never get any poems?' said Byleth, bumping his shoulder against Dimitri's. 

Dimitri laughed, but his face had turned pink and Byleth wondered if literary attempts from Dimitri's days at Officers Academy did exist. 

'Now you're flirting,' said Felix. 

'My lords,' said Gilbert, in the tone of a man who wanted to be elsewhere. 'If we are done--'

'Now that everyone has calmed down,' said Seteth. 'Perhaps we can move forward?' 

'Not without a plan,' said Byleth, with a nod at Seteth. The man would never be free from inhibitions, but Byleth appreciated the effort and tact. 'I don't think we can afford to march straight to the throne room.' 

'You're right,' said Dimitri. 'This is Edelgard we're talking about. She would be prepared against a direct onslaught.' 

Gleaning what information they could from Constance and Caspar's distant memories of Enbarr, Byleth and his generals devised a plan of attack. 

*

In the same way Faerghus knights were known for their skills with the lance, Adrestia was known for the might of her warlocks. The best of them, trained by House Vestra itself, guarded the Emperor in the throne room. In turn, the Emperor's hand-picked soldiers watched over the warlocks, ready to cut off the foes that step too close. 

'Stand back.' Byleth waved his ranged soldiers forward; Ashe, Annette, and Constance at the head of their battalions, providing cover to their heavily armoured companions. 

'So it was your attacks that plagued us on the way here,' said Dimitri. He didn't raise his voice but it still carried across the room--a trick of the architecture; the throne room was designed like a theatre and ready for the monarch's proclamations. 'To have changed beyond recognition; if this is your resolve then I must match it with my own.' 

The Emperor made a sound--Byleth couldn't tell if it was a laugh or a sigh, when the Emperor's voice rasped in her throat, distorted in an inconceivable body that bore only the slightest resemblance to Edelgard. 

'A fool dwells on the obstacles blocking his path,' said the Emperor, 'but not the great future that lies beyond. Your short-sightedness keeps Fòdlan from moving forward.' 

'Can we truly defeat such a being?' said Annette, a statement of disbelief rather than a real question. People disagreed with Edelgard's ideas of reform, maybe even hated her for the lives lost in the war. But the Emperor, who is both Edelgard and not, existed beyond disagreement or hatred: she was to be feared.

'We must,' said Dimitri. 'What other choice do we have?' 

Dimitri and his men broke off from Byleth's battalion to meet the Emperor head-on. Byleth cursed as he moved back, allowing Felix to take his place by Annette's side. 

'Stop this fucking madness,' said Felix, shielding Annette from an Adrestian soldier's axe. He pulled back, fancy footwork like Byleth taught him, before slamming the Aegis shield against the soldier's jaw. 

Byleth nodded his approval before heading for the dais where the Emperor waited, towering over everyone in the castle. She stood even taller than Dedue, who had managed to break off from a group of enemy soldiers to stand by Dimitri's side. 

Byleth found it hard to look at her--his brain denying the Emperor's physical presence as something too terrible to comprehend. Sothis had been the same, but hers was a benign existence: the progenitor god who gave and shared and created. The Emperor was the opposite of that and she reminded Byleth of the empty space between realities: belonging outside nature but jealous of it. 

'What have you done, Edelgard?' said Byleth, as he took his place beside Dimitri. He tapped at Dimitri's arm with the two fingers of his left hand, signing for Dimitri to move only after Byleth's attack. 

'I do only what I must,' said the Emperor. There was a hesitation in her voice that might have sounded like Edelgard, if one listened hard enough. 'But with you standing against me, I grow weak.' 

'I'm sorry,' said Byleth, stepping forward. Flanked by their battalions, the three of them worked at the Emperor's defences. She wouldn't fall so easily, but Caspar was right when he'd challenged the War Council back in Fort Merceus: there was no point in owning a Hero's Relic if one wasn't going to use it. Byleth unclipped the Sword of the Creator from his belt, noting how the Emperor moved away from him as he held the Sword on a high guard. 

He managed to parry her first attack, the Sword breaking through the Emperor's spell. As the Sword made contact with the Emperor's arm, Byleth heard Sothis's voice: loud and screaming for him to let go. She had hated every contact with Thales and his ilk, their magic the antithesis of her existence. Distracted, Byleth wasn't fast enough to dodge the Emperor's follow up, her impossibly long fingers piercing his armour and then his gut. 

He gasped, unable to take in enough air to scream. His torn flesh made a wet sucking sound when she pulled her fingers out of his body, as if he was nothing more than a sticky pudding. 

'Professor,' said Dedue, pulling Byleth out of the way as Dimitri swung Areadbhar at the Emperor, the Relic shining bright as it connected with the Emperor's flesh, the same area where she had pressed her fingers through Byleth's body. 

She screamed in Edelgard's voice and Byleth staggered forward, supported by Dedue as he spilled his blood all over Castle Enbarr's marble floor--blood that was thick and cast with a strange greenish hue, which Byleth ignored like a child putting off unwanted lessons. 

'El,' said Dimitri just as Byleth tried to say Edelgard's name. 'Let's go home.' 

She had fallen to her knees, Her Majesty Edelgard, Emperor of Adrestia; once again the woman Byleth remembered. But her face was drawn and there was an ashen quality to her, as if they were looking at her reflection in a dusty mirror. She smiled as Dimitri offered her his hand and Byleth moved when she did; him to lift the Sword of the Creator to strike her down, her to pull out a dagger--Dimitri's dagger--from its sheath to throw at Dimitri's neck 

Byleth was too far away, even if he could stand without Dedue's help, but Dimitri reacted just a heartbeat later, moving back right after Edelgard had thrown the dagger so it pierced his shoulder instead. His cry of pain might have been from the wound instead of having to run Edelgard through with Areadbhar. 

'Dimitri,' said Byleth. He realised he could breathe again, could even take small careful steps closer to Dimitri on his own. He pressed a hand against his wounds and found them half-healed, his blood seeking to keep him alive and whole. 'Dimitri.' 

Dimitri turned to Byleth, finally taking in Byleth's bloody state. 'Professor, are you all right?' 

'I'll survive,' said Byleth, shrugging. This pulled at his wounds and made his vision darken, so he stood still and thought about not making sudden movements. 'We must leave.' 

'Our friends need our help in rounding up the remaining Adrestian forces,' said Dedue. He was giving Byleth a bemused look, which Byleth ignored. 

'Right you are, my friend,' said Dimitri. His voice sounded like cracked glass and he had barely taken a few steps away from Edelgard's corpse when he stopped. 

Byleth sighed and walked back to where Dimitri stood, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. Neither of them was strong enough to bear the other's weight, but somehow they managed to leave the throne room without collapsing and without looking back. 

*

Caspar was waiting for them outside the heavy wooden doors, his face too pale under the blood and dirt and tears. 

'Save him,' he said, glaring at Byleth. 'He followed you and you will save him.'

Through the exhaustion and doubts and the fear of his own body, Byleth finally focused on the broken figure Caspar was holding in his arms. Next to Byleth, Dedue whispered Ashe's name.

'Is he dead?' said Byleth. He felt Dimitri's hand tighten around his, a small gesture but one he appreciated. 

'Not yet,' said Caspar, through clenched teeth. 'You will save him.' 

His tone was flat, unwilling to turn his statement into a question. But Caspar was a practical man and knew not to demand what Byleth couldn't give. 

Byleth touched his wounds again and nodded. 'Bring him here.' 

*

ii. Verdant Rain Moon

The Adrestian capital had a proper church in the village square, so the small chapel in Castle Enbarr served only its lords and their servants. Sitting on a pew in the far side of the chapel, Byleth finally understood why Dimitri went to such places when he wanted to be alone.

People had come to leave their marks inside those places of worship; their hopes and desperation, their dark confessions. The chapel soaked all of it in and there was no judgment in its silence. Byleth wondered what the place would make of him. Had Indech wondered at his undying body? Had the sight of his own blood filled Cichol with a deep and wordless dread? 

'Professor?' 

Caspar's voice was uncharacteristically soft, swollen with the tears he had shed earlier. A few seconds passed before Byleth's brain registered that someone was trying to speak to him; bothering people in the middle of prayer was considered rude and so he'd been left to sit on his pew undisturbed for what felt like hours. He had no idea what time it was and the chapel had no windows. 

'Professor?'

Byleth turned to Caspar and gestured for him to sit down. 

'How's Ashe?' said Byleth, as Caspar sat next to him. 

'Sleeping,' said Caspar. 'Professor Manuela said his recovery is nothing short of a miracle.' 

Byleth nodded. He was relieved; anything else that would come after could wait. 

'I haven't told him yet,' said Caspar. He kicked the kneeler in front of them, his foot tapping out a rhythm that reminded Byleth of one of Annette's songs. 'Your father was like that, wasn't he? I heard Alois talking about it--Captain Jeralt who never aged.' 

Byleth looked at his hands. They had held his blood earlier, cupped against Ashe's lips, forcing him to drink. 

'Yes.' 

'Is it--' Caspar sighed. The tapping stopped. Byleth didn't think he'd ever seen Caspar sit so still. 'Does it scare you?' 

'Yes,' said Byleth. 

'I only wanted to save him,' said Caspar. 'Do you think he'd hate me?' 

Byleth sighed and leaned back against the pew. 'You can have all of eternity to argue and sort it out, if you wish.' 

Caspar said nothing and Byleth finally looked away from the altar to see Caspar frown and bite his lower lip. 

'Caspar,' said Byleth. 'Are you going to make Ashe bear what you cannot?'

'Must you say it like that?' Caspar finally laughed, the sound almost unforced. He started tapping his foot against the kneeler again. 'Ashe told me you made them taste the blood of their first kill, to remind them of what it means to take a life.' 

His first mission with the Blue Lions seemed like a lifetime ago. Byleth nodded. 

'What does this mean, then?' said Caspar.

'I guess we'll find out together.' Byleth held out his hand and, after a heartbeat's worth of hesitation, Caspar reached out to shake it. 

*

Byleth didn't leave the chapel when Caspar did. He thought of standing up, could envision himself leaving the chapel to join his friends and former students in the courtyard, but he remained where he was. A thick fog seemed to have filled him, obscuring the connection between his mind and his body, so he sat slumped on the pew and unable to move. 

In his fog-enshrouded mind, he could hear Edelgard's scream, still feel the echo of the Emperor's sharp nails digging into his flesh. Manuela had taken one look at Byleth's bloody state and had all but carried him into the tents where the healers took care of the wounded and dying. Scars had already formed on the smooth skin of his stomach; rough circles the size of a gold coin, shiny and pink and healing.

'Professor.' Unlike Caspar's, there was nothing unsure about Dimitri's voice. Dimitri knew Byleth's moods and how to act around them, but more importantly he'd been in the throne room next to Byleth. He had received his own wounds from the Emperor and had seen the bitter hopeless smile on her face before she'd died. 'Would you join me for dinner?' 

'Is it that time already?' 

'This is unlike you,' said Dimitri, sitting on his haunches so he could look at Byleth's face. 'Meals are important, aren't they?' 

Byleth was hungry, but eating meant going outside and talking to people. He didn't know which conversation he wanted to avoid more; Ashe's unexpected recovery or the fall of the Emperor. 

'I can have food brought to my tent,' said Dimitri. He smiled. 'Do you want me to carry you there?'

Byleth laughed, reaching out so he could pull at Dimitri's hair. 'Gilbert would have a conniption.'

'I've done it before, do you remember?' said Dimitri. 'After you defeated Solon and the colour of your hair changed. For a moment, I thought you'd died.' 

'And did you carry me over your shoulder,' said Byleth, 'like a sack of potatoes?' 

'Not my professor.' Dimitri laughed. 'I carried you like a bride.' 

Byleth ran his hands through Dimitri's hair as Dimitri rested his head against Byleth's thigh. The fine pale strands snagged on Byleth's callused fingers. 

'The colour of your hair isn't the only thing that has changed,' said Dimitri, his voice muffled against Byleth's clothes. 

Byleth took a deep breath. 'Yes.' 

'Have you known, from the start?' 

'I suspected,' said Byleth. He had survived a fall from one of Oghma's mountains and lived without food or drink for five years; the thought had been in the back of his mind, along with trivial details he hadn't wanted to examine more closely. He had not needed to shave or cut his hair since he'd woken up. 'Do you remember the time I broke off a fingernail in battle?' 

'In Myrddin, yes.' 

Byleth smiled to himself; Dimitri had been deep in his living hell back then, beset by the voices and regrets of the dead. Byleth hadn't thought Dimitri had been paying attention. 

'Half of it torn clean off,' said Byleth. 'And grown back to normal the next day.'

He didn't want to know what would have happened had his finger been cut off instead of the one nail. 

Dimitri sat up so he could look at Byleth in the eye. 'After the war, will you go to Fhirdiad with me?'

'Hm,' said Byleth, nodding. He had no intention of doing otherwise, but Dimitri's question has pierced the fog inside him, made him feel less sluggish. 

'Let's have dinner, professor,' said Dimitri. 

Byleth thought of himself standing up and leaving the chapel with Dimitri. With Dimitri holding his hand, those actions didn't seem as impossible as before. 

Perhaps one day he will be alone, but that was a problem for the future. 

*

iii. Horsebow Moon

The allied Kingdom forces had gone back to their respective homes, their pockets as heavy as their hearts were light with victory. Byleth, the former mercenary, had made sure they'd been paid extra for their efforts. The coffers of the freshly united countries and the Church could never make up for the horrors the soldiers had experienced during the war, but it was something tangible they could use to rebuild their lives. Yuris had taken one look at the expenses, written down neatly in Seteth's hand, and made Dimitri vow never to start a war of such scale again. 

The War Council remained in Garreg Mach. Byleth had told them they could return home if they wished--he would send news if there was a change in Lady Rhea's condition--but Dimitri refused to leave Byleth's side and his generals chose to stay with him. 

Any word of reassurance Byleth might have given Dimitri got stuck at the back of his throat. Dimitri himself hadn't broached the subject of Byleth's uncertain future--they both avoided it, as if talking about possibilities would bring about the worst of them into reality.

Still, Byleth wasn't surprised when Seteth came to inform him that Lady Rhea required his presence. He followed Seteth up to the third floor of the main building, thinking of the last time he had seen Lady Rhea. 

While Byleth had been sulking in Castle Enbarr's chapel, the Knights of Seiros had remembered their duty and began searching for Lady Rhea as soon as the Adrestian army admitted defeat. Byleth had read Alois's report, the Captain's description of Lady Rhea--bound by chains in the dungeon, weakened and shivering from the cold--added to Byleth's unease. He had forgotten about her; perhaps her Knights had been right to doubt him. 

The healers had done their best to prepare Lady Rhea for the journey back to Garreg Mach, and they allowed only Seteth and Flayn to attend to Lady Rhea's needs. Byleth had caught glimpses of her as her Knights carried her in a veiled litter to her room: she had looked gaunt, her skin stretched tight across her bones. Something about her seemed muted. Less. 

'Speak softly, if you must,' said Seteth, pausing in front of the Archbishop's room. 'But Lady Rhea needs rest and I advise you to keep this conversation short.' 

That would depend on what Lady Rhea wished to talk about, thought Byleth. But Seteth had called Lady Rhea by name instead of her title and he was forced to give name to the feeling that lurked deep in his stomach and made him unable to talk about anything more serious than the weather with Dimitri. 

He felt dread gently squeezing his heart. 

Seteth must have taken Byleth's silence as affirmation because he gestured Byleth inside, closing the door behind Byleth like a full stop at the end of a sentence; the sound of wood settling into place felt final and impossible to challenge. 

'Is that you, professor?' 

Byleth took a deep breath. 'Lady Rhea.' 

Lady Rhea wasn't a small woman, but in her massive four-poster bed and with her hair loose, she looked like a doll made of porcelain. But she was a woman--and if the accounts Ingrid had found in the Shadow Library were true, Lady Rhea had loved once. 

'Will you sit and talk a while?' said Lady Rhea. 

Byleth smiled. The door at his back was just a door and he could open it if he needed to. 'Of course.' 

There was nowhere to sit aside from the chaise lounge at the foot of Lady Rhea's bed and Byleth didn't think that was what she meant, so he sat on the bed next to her. 

'I'm sorry,' said Byleth. 'I should have come for you sooner.' 

'No.' The time Lady Rhea had spent captive in Enbarr might have sapped her strength, but under the grace and embroidered robes of the Archbishop, she was still a woman of steely resolve. There was nothing soft in her voice when she said, 'It is I who should apologise.'

'Your Grace--' 

'You know my true name, don't you?' She reached out to place her hand on Byleth's. 'Perhaps you have guessed my connection to the progenitor god. They called her the Beginning, but sometimes I also called her Mother.' 

'She told me,' said Byleth. 

'I only wanted to speak to her again.' Lady Rhea closed her eyes. 'It was more than a thousand years ago, but her death had been so sudden and so horrible that I couldn't bring myself to let go.' 

Byleth touched the Sword of the Creator with his free hand, the warmth of it and the wrongness. He took comfort from Sothis's presence, but that didn't negate the horror of her bloody death and the unspeakable things Nemesis must have done to trap her essence in her bones. The remains of a creator crafted into a tool of death and destruction. 

'I know you understand,' said Lady Rhea. 'But that does not excuse what I did to bring her back.' 

'The Crest stone,' said Byleth, fingers moving to trace the circular indentation near the hilt of the Sword. 'It should have been part of the Sword of the Creator; the dark mages who tried to steal it said the Sword was incomplete.' He considered his words and decided being direct was the best approach. 'It's inside my body, isn't it?' 

Still without opening her eyes, Lady Rhea nodded. 'Perhaps your father was right to take you away from the monastery.' 

'Sothis woke up only when I returned,' said Byleth. 'I'm not saying you did no wrong,' he paused when he heard her laugh softly, 'but that removes a lot of blame from Thales and his group.' 

'Perhaps,' said Lady Rhea. She opened her eyes again and gave Byleth's hand a squeeze. 'Perhaps Edelgard was right. Maybe I have been in a position of power for too long.' 

No, Byleth wanted to say. But his reaction was rooted in selfishness more than concern, so he remained silent. 

'Would you protect everyone when I'm gone, professor?' 

'Lady Rhea,' he said, leaning closer. 'Where are you going?' 

'Time would tell.' Lady Rhea smiled. 'I don't intend to die, professor.' 

Byleth let out a rush of breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. 'Then what are you going to do?' 

'I'm not my Mother,' said Lady Rhea. 'Yet I still presumed to know what is best for the people of Fòdlan.' 

'And you think I do?' said Byleth. 

'You are one of them, professor.' 

He had expected her to mention Sothis, had readied a reply for when she did, and so was left with nothing to say.

'With the two of you to take care of the people--' 

'Don't,' said Byleth, pulling his hand away. 'Don't speak of him.' 

'I'm sorry,' she said. She offered him no silver lining, which he appreciated. 

The conversation was over. He stood up and gave Lady Rhea a bow before heading for the door. 

'That girl. In the end, she still achieved the reform she wanted, didn't she?' Lady Rhea laughed. 

*

Now he knew what his future held, Byleth felt calmer. He wouldn't have chosen this path at all, but neither could he refuse what Lady Rhea had asked of him. 

He and Dimitri _could_ change Fòdlan for the better, that was the problem. 

'Do you remember the night of the ball,' said Byleth, 'and you asked me to come here with you?' 

Dimitri looked out the window of the goddess tower, refusing to meet Byleth's eyes. In the rosy light of the setting sun, his hair glowed like a Hero's Relic. 

'What did Lady Rhea want?' 

'Dimitri--' 

'She spoke with you earlier,' said Dimitri, his voice carefully neutral. 'Flayn told me.'

Byleth took a deep breath. 'Then you know what she asked of me. Is there anything else, Your Highness?' 

Dimitri finally turned to look at Byleth, his lips moving before he finally said, 'You said you'll go to Fhirdiad with me.' 

Byleth wanted to. The royal succession would demand Dimitri to marry and beget an heir; Byleth had always known that wasn't going to be his future. At some point Dimitri would probably tire of him and settle into marital bliss, but eternity was a long time to spend away from the light. 

'I want,' said Byleth, pausing when he realised he had no idea what he should say. 'I want you to be happy.' 

'And you think this is the way to achieve that?' Dimitri's tone and expression held more than a trace of bemusement, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite his frown. 

'You worry about those who are suffering,' said Byleth. 'And we agree about bringing change to Fòdlan. I thought--' he felt the prickling of tears at the corners of his eyes. The Ashen Demon, brought to tears by an afternoon chat; what would his enemies think? 'I had thought I could do it by your side.' 

'We could do that in Fhirdiad,' said Dimitri. But he sounded less sure and Byleth knew he had won the argument, for what it was worth. 

'I'd be of more use to you here,' said Byleth, moving closer to Dimitri so he could touch Dimitri's face, the line of his jaw and his tightly pressed lips. 

'I once thought I had no future to promise anyone,' said Dimitri. 'Is this the price I have to pay for choosing revenge over my own people?'

Byleth shook his head. 'It's the price we will pay for the future of a united Fòdlan.' 

'Professor.' Dimitri's voice broke and he bowed his head so his hair covered his face. 'Years ago, I thought only of revenge as the voices of the dead drowned out everything else. Even so, you reminded me I could stop and look at the sky.' 

'So you do remember,' said Byleth. 

'I didn't think I would survive,' Dimitri went on. 'Those fleeting moments of brightness were precious, but they changed nothing. Back then, _I_ thought nothing of throwing them away.'

'That was before.' Byleth cupped Dimitri's face in his hands. 'Dimitri, what do you fear?' 

'What is one day with a clear sky to someone who would live forever?' 

'Dimitri.' Byleth would have laughed, except he felt like Dimitri had run him through the heart with Areadbhar, blunt and messy and without grace. 'How can I think of an eternity without that one clear day?' He couldn't laugh so he cried instead, tears blurring Dimitri's face and his hair that shone like newly forged metal. 'How can I bear it?' 

'Byleth--'

'I'm going to marry Manuela.' 

For a moment, Dimitri said nothing and Byleth was too absorbed blurrily staring at the fur lining on Dimitri's boots to look at Dimitri's face. 

'Are you throwing things at me just to see how I'd react?' said Dimitri. 

'I have no need for marriage.' Had Byleth been anyone but the Archbishop, and Dimitri not the King of Fòdlan, Byleth might have asked. He would have asked, but Dimitri didn't need to hear what he already knew. 'But I know you. You'd be making your advisers' lives miserable by remaining unmarried and heirless if I remain similarly unwed.'

'And Professor Manuela?' 

'I waited long for her to see me as a man. Patience is a virtue of the wise, isn't that what people say?' Byleth finally looked up, smiling at Dimitri's confused look. 'She's a friend.'

'I'm not wise enough for patience, it seems like,' said Dimitri, with a wry smile. 

'You have me,' said Byleth. He reached under the collar of his tunic and pulled out the leather cord that held Sitri's wedding ring. 'You'll always have me.' 

He held out his hand and as if by instinct, Dimitri moved to receive Sitri's ring in the palm of his own hand. 

Dimitri frowned at the ring. 'I've seen you wear this, after--' he caught himself. 'In the Captain's office.' 

'It was my mother's,' said Byleth. 'Jeralt said I should give it to someone important to me.' 

'Byleth--' 

'You can give it to your wife, if you wish,' said Byleth. 

'With all due respect,' said Dimitri, looking as if Byleth had asked him to breathe fire. 'I would rather gouge out my remaining eye.'

Byleth laughed. 'In any case, I want you to have it.' 

Dimitri grabbed Byleth's hand before he could let it fall back to his side. 'You can't tell me how to feel, you do realise that?' 

'I wouldn't presume to tell a king what to do,' said Byleth. 

Dimitri leaned down to press his lips against the back of Byleth's hand. 'I have a hard time understanding you sometimes.' 

'I need to make sure you keep coming back,' said Byleth, feeling the tightness in his chest ease when Dimitri laughed his private laugh. 

'Is that the Archbishop's will?' said Dimitri, holding the ring up. 

'Yes,' said Byleth. He should have brought the ring to the jeweller's for adjusting--Byleth himself couldn't wear it, much less Dimitri, who made a face as he slid the ring up to the first knuckle of his pinky. 

'Mine?' said Dimitri, pulling Byleth close.

'Yours,' said Byleth, standing on the tip of his toes to kiss Dimitri. 

*

iv. Ethereal Moon

The first King of the reunited Fòdlan would be crowned on the day of his birth. The coronation ceremony could have happened sooner--nobles and commoners alike had wondered at the delay, the months of silence that followed the proclamation regarding the fall of the Adrestian Empire filled in with speculation and worry.

Some of the more unlikely theories had even reached Garreg Mach. 

'What news do you have for me, Ashe?' said Byleth, who had taken a break from Seteth's lectures on catechism to enjoy Ashe's freshly baked pastries. 

'People are saying the prince has run away to Almyra and eloped with the former Duke Riegan,' said Ashe, trying to hide a smile behind one hand. 

'Why, that cheating rogue,' said Byleth, pleasantly.

Ashe laughed and made no comment about how the prince's lover was married to someone who wasn't the prince--Byleth liked that about him. 

'I ran across His Highness in the library at Castle Fhirdiad yesterday,' said Ashe. 'I had to ask him why he wasn't in Almyra.' 

'He still refuses to answer to His Majesty, then.' Byleth reached out for a scone. 'The coronation is in a few days.' 

'Tell me about it,' said Ashe, pushing the jar of apple jam closer to Byleth. 'The King's Council has been keeping the more insidious rumours in check, but people are getting restless.'

'I'm sorry,' said Byleth. 

Ashe raised his hands. 'Not at all. I didn't mean to imply--' he let his voice trail off. 'At any rate, there's still a lot of work to be done within the Council itself. Who'd have thought the unification of Fòdlan would be so much work?' 

'That's because Dimitri wants to give the guild masters a voice in the Council,' said Byleth. 'The scale won't be impossible in Faerghus, but the whole of Fòdlan?'

'Are you criticising the King again?' 

Byleth looked up from his third scone to see Manuela walking towards the pavilion with a teapot in both hands. 

'I come with reinforcement,' she said, waving the pot at Byleth. 

'Careful.' Byleth left his seat to fetch the pot from Manuela. The people of Garreg Mach seemed to share the Faerghus preference for sturdiness over aesthetic--Byleth supported this idea, but their teapots could be used to break skulls without damaging the ceramic. 'Would you join us?'

'Don't mind if I do,' said Manuela, taking a scone from the tray. 'I don't think I've ever had scones like yours, Ashe. Can I persuade you to share the recipe?'

'I don't use butter,' said Ashe, turning pink as Manuela leaned over the table, giving him an eyeful of her cleavage as she reached for the bowl of cream. 

Becoming the wife of the Archbishop hadn't made a 'respectable woman' out of Manuela as Seteth had hoped. She still got drunk in public (with her husband) and flirted with handsome men (in front of her husband). People had no idea what to make of it, especially since they knew Dimitri hadn't kicked Byleth out of his bed even after Byleth's wedding. 

'The Faerghus way,' said Manuela, winking at Byleth. 'Just how you like it.' 

Byleth laughed while Ashe tried not to choke on tea. 'Are you saying you don't benefit from the techniques I learned?' 

'Really, my love,' said Manuela. 'Hardly the conversation you'd expect from the Archbishop at tea time. Look at poor Ashe.' 

'Aren't you going to sit down?' said Byleth, placing the teapot on the table. 

'I have to leave for the guilds meeting soon.' Manuela turned to Ashe, who had a curious look on his face. 'Some of the guilds were less than thrilled to find the new Archbishop is a man.' 

'They said they accept anyone who lives their life as a woman,' said Byleth. 'Unfortunately, I don't fit that description either.' 

Sitting down while his wife continued to stand felt wrong so he stayed where he was until Manuela laughed and pushed him back on his chair. 

'As much as I would love to stay, I couldn't be late for this meeting,' she said, grabbing a pastry from Byleth's plate before leaving the pavilion. 'I'll see you later, boys.'

'You will come to the coronation?' said Byleth, pouring mint tea into Ashe's empty cup. 

'Of course. We might be staying a few weeks yet. Caspar still has some business in Bergliez,' said Ashe, keeping his eyes on his cup. 

'Is it all right for you to be here?' said Byleth, cursing himself for not realising sooner. He'd been too focused on Church affairs, the movements of the defeated Adrestian army had been pushed to the back of his mind. 

'I'll fly back this afternoon with Mook,' said Ashe. 'I think he wants some time alone, you know how Caspar is.' 

'We have rooms ready for whenever you need them,' said Byleth. 'It's been a while since I had tea with Caspar.' 

'I'll tell him that,' said Ashe, sounding more cheerful. 'We might drop by over the weekend. Seiros willing, the coronation would go as planned--I think a change of pace would do Caspar good.' He gave Byleth a sly look. 'At this point, it's unlikely anyone else's wedding would leave the prince in such a state of ennui.' 

'Don't remind me,' said Byleth, who could laugh only because Dimitri had started to sleep and eat regularly again. 'Those weeks saw much improvement in the records keeping of Fòdlan, but nothing else.' 

'His Highness does tend to throw himself into his work.' Ashe laughed. 'Dedue needs to be stricter about that.' 

'Dedue spoils him,' said Byleth, as if he had no problem saying no to Dimitri as well. 'But I'll see if I could convince Dimitri to take a few days of rest after the coronation.' 

Byleth had been busy himself; the elusive Cardinals of the Church had finally reconvened to make his appointment as the new Archbishop official. No one mentioned how Byleth was only the second Archbishop to have been appointed since the Church was founded. Byleth had looked at the Cardinal's faces one by one, committing their names to memory, wondering if they would lie for him as well. 

'I should head back soon,' said Ashe, leaning against his seat. 'He probably wouldn't, but I'm worried Caspar might cause a civil unrest if left to his own devices.' 

Byleth laughed. 'Let's see if we can have the cooks pack you some snacks.' 

Ashe helped him clear the table, gathering the leftover sweets and pastries in one basket while Byleth took care of the teapots. 

'Are you all right?' said Byleth, as they headed back to the dining hall with their trays and baskets. 

'Hm?' said Ashe. He often got lost in his own thoughts, something which used to drive Caspar up the wall. 'Oh, yes. Of course. I was just thinking about the packing I still have to do before we head out.'

Byleth worried at his lower lip. 'And Caspar has told you about what happened in Enbarr?' 

Understanding dawned on Ashe's face and was replaced by a guarded look. 'We've talked about it.' 

'I'm sorry,' said Byleth. 

'What for?' Ashe laughed. 

They walked in silence for a while, the air not quite companionable but less than hostile. Byleth felt more comfortable as a listener, reacting to what people said instead of starting conversations on his own; in moments of uncertainty, he defaulted to the weather and cats. 

'I thought a time would come when I'd look older than you,' said Ashe. 'And how strange it would be. But that's not going to happen for me, is it?' 

'Already has,' said Byleth. 

'Professor,' said Ashe, the exclamation had the tone of a curse. 'How old are you?' 

'In truth? Twenty-seven.' Byleth shrugged, the movement joggling the teapots on his tray and he spent a whole second worrying about breaking them until he remembered how sturdy they were. 'But my body hasn't changed since I was twenty-one.' 

'Macuil's hairy tits,' said Ashe. He must have learned elocution from Lonato, but there were moments when he let his commoner accent slip and he sounded more like Yuris. 'Does that mean at some point, the king's lover would look half his age?' 

'Well,' said Byleth. 'I do think Dimitri would look better the older he gets.' 

Ashe laughed, the sound sharp and crisp--a complement to the brisk brightness of the winter morning. 

Byleth knew Ashe would be fine. 

*

They were all gathered in the cathedral, Byleth's former students and the people who had fought by their side during the war. The horrors of it could still be seen in the shadows around their eyes, the weapons they wore despite their formal outfits, but they were alive and in their smiles Byleth could see a happier future. 

'This place is packed,' said Yuris. He looked around with the bored face of a man unimpressed with the bouquets and banners decorating the nave, but Byleth knew he was scoping the area for suspicious activities. 'Good thing they favour clean architectural lines here. This whole affair would have been a logistical nightmare in Adrestian castles.' 

'You worry too much,' said Caspar. 'We're here to guard the king, aren't we? Besides, it would take more than a few men to take down Blaiddyd.' 

'I'm glad to hear you hold my strength at such a high regard,' said Dimitri, stepping out of the vestry with Dedue. 

The clear weather had held and the sky outside was the pale icy colour of Dimitri's eyes. In the light of the winter sun, Dimitri looked to be the very embodiment of the season: sharp and crystalline, the silvery shine of his armour and the wolf pelt thrown over his shoulders made Byleth think of the warrior kings of legend, of snow and crackling fires and Jeralt telling him of the heroic deeds of beings from the Otherworld. 

Dimitri met Byleth's gaze and smiled, and he was Dimitri again; the King of Fòdlan and Byleth's lover, a man who never got enough sleep. 

'Weren't you supposed to walk down the aisle?' said Byleth, who would have liked to see Dimitri walking towards him like a bride in shining armour. 

'I know what you're thinking,' said Yuris. 'And I don't want to ruin your hopes and dreams so it still might happen.' He raised a finger before Byleth could smile. 'Not the whole length of the aisle, mind you.'

'I'm glad you and Ashe could make it,' said Dimitri, turning to Caspar. 

'We got you where you are now,' said Caspar, grinning. 'Wouldn't miss it for the world.' 

'True enough.' Dimitri hesitated, then said, 'I'm sorry about Count Bergliez. He died with honour.' 

'He wasn't bad.' Caspar looked at his shoes. 'That kind of sacrifice--' he shrugged, his voice turning wry. 'Makes me wonder what kind of man I've become, you know? Compared to my father, what have I done during the war?' 

'For what it's worth,' said Dimitri, giving Caspar a thump on the back. 'I ask myself the same thing. I'll do my best to honour his last wishes, and for the most part the Adrestian army had behaved themselves admirably, but--' 

'People would be people,' said Sylvain, joining them from the nave with the rest of the Blue Lions. They would serve as the King's guard during the ceremony, patrolling the chancel along with the Knights of Seiros. 'You can't deny there are people from both sides who behaved in less honourable ways.' 

'I don't think Count Bergliez was thinking of them in particular,' said Byleth. He glared at Dimitri. ' _You_ are thinking about Randolph.' 

Caspar looked up at the mention of his uncle's name. 'What about him?'

'How can I punish enemy soldiers when I'm hardly innocent of the same crimes?' said Dimitri. 

Byleth had spent many nights arguing with Dimitri about making reparations for his actions during the war, but this was a good chance for him to listen to his friends' opinions. 

'If you won't punish people for their wrongdoings during the war, the King's Council would,' said Annette. 'You gave us the authority to do so, remember?' 

Byleth heard Felix's laugh before the man emerged from the vestry. He was carrying a blue cushion that bore the Faerghus crown, a simple band of silver inlaid with diamonds and light blue gems. 

'She's got that right,' said Felix, trying to foist the crown at Byleth's hands before Gilbert stopped him. 'That's what you get for giving a voice to your people.' 

'You will hand the crown to His Grace at the moment of coronation,' said the old man, looking so tired Byleth almost offered him a drink. 'As the Shield of Faerghus, your duty is to stand by the King.' 

'That was my father,' said Felix. 'But if it takes being a Shield to remind the boar of his duties, so be it.' 

'Send us word if you need help,' said Caspar, with a grin. 'We'd be glad to cut our travels short if the king needs some sense knocked into him.' 

Dimitri laughed and gave them a sweeping bow. 'I could not ask for better, my friends.' 

'Now perhaps we could begin with the ceremony?' said Gilbert, giving Byleth a pleading look. 

'Very well,' said Byleth. He was looking forward to the feast that would come after; Dedue and Ashe had been busy helping at the kitchens since the night before. 'Shall we go, Your Majesty?' 

Byleth smiled when, for the first time, Dimitri did not protest the title. 

'As you wish,' said Dimitri, leaning close so only Byleth would hear. 'Beloved.' 

*

As if to prove that leadership was a birthright, the silver crown suited Dimitri in a way the Archbishop's tiara had never looked good on Byleth. To be fair, the crown of Faerghus had been made for House Blaiddyd while the Archbishop's tiara had been designed with Lady Rhea in mind. No one had thought it would be worn by a man unused to jewellery and bright clothing. 

Byleth looked at Dimitri's bowed head--the King needed to kneel in front of the Archbishop to symbolise his obeisance to a higher being, at least according to Seteth's teachings. The angle gave Byleth a view of Dimitri's face he usually doesn't see on account of being shorter: Dimitri's pale eyelashes settling against his cheekbones, the leather of his eyepatch following the line of his bushy brow.

No. Blaiddyd might have had an eye for good design, but there was a lot to be said about a beautiful face and a fine stature; Dimitri would never be overshadowed by fancy clothes and silver crowns. 

Byleth placed his fingers under Dimitri's chin, urging Dimitri to look up and meet Byleth's eyes. 

'Let's do our best,' said Byleth. 'Together.'

Dimitri's reply was drowned by the crowd cheering their new king, their voices thunderous in the vast hall of the cathedral. Byleth could imagine the stained glass shaking in their dark frames, the building itself vibrating as the populace shouted their support of their king.

Byleth saw Dimitri's lips move, 'Together' before he leaned down to kiss Byleth's hand. The gesture was a part of the ceremony, except Dimitri had done it so many times it felt only natural. He gave Byleth a look that made Byleth think neither of them would get much sleep that night. So much for making Dimitri get some rest. 

'All hail Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,' said Gilbert. 'King of Fòdlan.'

The coronation thus concluded, Byleth gestured at Dimitri to stand up. 

In another history, Byleth had been likened to Pan the undesiring strategist by a student. Standing beside the new king of a reunited Fòdlan, a descendant of Loog himself, Byleth thought of Ferdinand and how close he'd been to predicting the future. 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • The game actually unites Fòdlan under the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus but it doesn't sound as impressive so uh, poetic license? 
> 
> • Earlier version of this had Byleth say he's 26. I forgot to account for the passage of time... he's actually 27. 
> 
> • Took me more than a month to write a wholeass chapter and I am full of shame and depression. This week is also hard for a lot of us, for many different reasons. :(
> 
> • Thanks for reading and see you in the next chapter! ♡


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